Water Drops of Red
by AnnieMJ
Summary: Water drops of red. For the ones departed, these are shed. I didn't think I could cry such pain, but as I watch, my heart is slain. Death is natural, but this was lead. Bullets raced and now they're dead. Cheap was him and all his men, crossed me once, then once again. And here she is…an obscurity, barren of clarity, blocking and bringing us to the disastrous end. AU/Mikiley.
1. Personal

**Water Drops Of Red**

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**A/N: **Well, hah, hey there. It's been a while, hasn't it? Yeah, no shit. Anywho, there are a few frequently asked questions that have been directed to me which I will answer right now.

_Are you alive?_ Yes, I am, and I'm actually touched that this was most people's first concern. Thank you for that.

_Are you ever continuing_ _Never Letting Go_? Yes, chapter 12 is half-way done, I can't say when the update is coming, but it's on its way.

_Are you Okay?_ I am very okay, nothing tragic or traumatic has happened as a lot of people have been hinting at. It's just that when you give me a summer full of time to write, I waste it being lazy. School has begun and it's like I've been slapped with inspiration so if this keeps up, I may be posting often ^.^

_Are you done with writing?_ No, I know it seems like I've vanished, but I've actually been writing a lot and hope to share my stories with you soon c:

Moving on to more important things, I miss you all like hell, wish the best for those of you starting school, and I hope you enjoy this new story.

I'm also glad to be back xD

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**Disclaimer**: I do not own Hannah Montana.

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**Chapter 1:** Personal

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**Miley's POV**

"Do you realize what you've cost me!" The strange man yelled for maybe the fifth time. "That was my son! You murdered my son!" My bruised up body was tired, not of being beaten, but of fighting back, and now that my goal was met, now that I've done what I needed to do, I can take this ending gratefully. I can close my eyes, and hope that when he strikes me again, maybe this will be the last one.

"Answer me, you bitch! Why did you kill him?"

"It isn't a game when it's your own, is it?" I whispered, finally opening my eyes to stare at the older man, his tie loosened, shirt un-tucked, short, gray hair disheveled, hands red and bruised from hitting me. My wrists were starting to burn, maybe they've been burning for a while, but now I'm feeling it, I've opened my eyes and now I feel everything.

Slapping my cheek harshly, the sound of the heavy chains that secured my wrists above my head rattled before I spat blood to the side, disgusted at the taste of it.

"What are you talking about?" He demanded, gripping the top of my shirt, pulling me closer so that I was eye-to eye with the recently ruined father. Leaving his angered, but curious gaze, I let mine dart around the room to see some of his men staring back with utter hate for me. I smiled. I killed one of their beloved, and they would all love to get their hands on me.

"Four weeks ago, your son made a mistake." I finally disclosed. "A mistake that cost him his life."

"Ouff!" I grunted as his fist slammed into my stomach unexpectedly. Grabbing my hair tightly, he forced me to look at him again, my upper arms crying out in pain from the weight of my body as my feet dangled a good six inches from the ground.

"Stop playing games, you whore, tell me why so I can end this now."

"I believe in the philosophy of an eye for an eye." I answered, breathing in harshly before he let go of my hair.

"Get me the bat." He ordered, and one of his dogs ran as fast as they could, bringing the requested weapon, and handing it over to him.

"Now, Miss Miley, listen to me very carefully. You are going to answer me or this bat will be slamming into your kneecaps, do you understand?" He asked in a quieted manner, attempting to reel in his anger. I suppose this is why you don't fuck with mafia-like groups.

As I hung there, I couldn't help but wonder why it had all come to this, was I so thirsty for revenge that I couldn't see until the red I saw flowing was my own?

Was I so angry at the prospect of his death being for nothing, and that mistakes like the one made against him should not go unpunished?

Maybe I got ahead of myself, maybe I closed my eyes for far too long, and now my poor kneecaps will suffer for that blunder. Or maybe this is the way it's supposed to go. Justice isn't blind, it isn't fair, it's almost unattainable as far as I can tell.

For me, justice was the death of one Samuel Ettore Cicero, aka Satan Sammy. Why the creepy nickname? If you ask me, he was nothing like I imagine Satan would be, but since he was the son of Giovanni Adriano Cicero, the man currently holding a bat in his hand, well, Sammy had free reign to be called what he liked. Sam, as I chose to call him was nothing but a goofy, half-Italian moron.

"Do you understand!" He yelled again, this time, a bucket of water suffocating me with a sudden drenching. Breathing hard, spitting it out, my eyes wider than ever, I nodded.

"Yes." I croaked, coughing up blood, feeling sick and queasy at this point. All my adrenaline was gone and now, reality was setting in. I am dead. Good as dead.

"Now, why did you kill my son, who sent you?"

"Your son sent me, he called for his own death, no one hired me if that's what you want to know."

"You bring a nasty feeling to my stomach, never in my life have I raised my hand to a woman, but you, you make me want to never stop for what you did to my Samuel."

"Good, then you are feeling exactly how I felt before I killed him." That earned me a painful strike to the back of my knee with the wooden bat. Nothing broke, but man did it hurt as the sensation crawled all over me, making me scream out in agony.

"Stop beating around the bush, tell me why you did it!" He ordered. I could hear movement behind me, some of his guards were back there, I suppose, out of my sight, probably watching on in satisfaction.

"Four weeks ago your son was appointed to kill a man by the name of Marcus Sanders, your son was a fucking idiot!" I snarled and I could tell Giovanni was holding back another blow because I was finally talking and he wanted to know where this was going.

"You dumb mafia fucks think you're so great, walking out there with your guns, selling your illegal shit, killing your opponents with no mercy, never thinking: hey, maybe I should make sure I'm killing the right person, because maybe, just maybe, you might kill the wrong person, and what then? What fucking then, Mr. Cicero? Do we all just say, woops, the boy made a mistake, or do we say, he's incompetent, and it's time he paid for his mistake? I chose the latter." Dropping his bat, Giovanni gripped my chin so tight, I thought it might break for a moment.

"What mistake are you talking about?" I laughed breathlessly, shaking my head despite his painful hold on me.

"You don't even know, do you? Your Sammy should have told you, but he was too scared, he knew daddy would be disappointed in his lack of professionalism, well, at least that's what he told me before I put the first bullet through his knee."

This time, Giovanni got a little original as he reached up, grabbing my wrists and pulling down with all the strength he could find which caused the rusted metal chains to cut into my flesh, my head falling back as I let out a deep groaning yell before he let go. I stared up at my fisted hands, watching as the blood rode down my vein slowly, eventually dropping onto my face.

"If you continue to disrespect my son's death, I will have you tortured to the edge of death before coming back to question you." He threatened, taking my attention once more.

"Your son disrespected himself!" I snapped. "That night, four weeks ago, he thought his job would be so simple, just kill Mr. Sanders and go party. Well, Sammy decided it'd be fun to start his party before the job was over. Got drunk, got high, got whatever he could, then, he got sloppy. Sanders walks into the bathroom, Sammy follows, Sanders chose to go into a stall, Sammy didn't realize, Sammy sees a man at a urinal, of course that's Sanders, target spotted, target spotted, aim, fire, job done! One bullet to the back of Marcus Sanders' head, whoohoo, party some more, but no, because in that instant, Sanders slammed his stall door open to shoot back, but somehow, not so sober Sammy managed to unload on Marcus. Sammy hides his gun in its holster, scratches his head, and wonders how there were two Marcus Sanders', but when he turns over the first Marcus, he learns: oh gee, I shot a complete stranger, an innocent bystander. Now let's all think here, why did I kill your great little Sammy? The answer is simple, it's always personal." I concluded, my eyes never leaving Giovanni's as he stared at me in shock.

"That's right, Mr. Cicero, your Sammy killed Jackson Rod Stewart, a young man, just partying who went for a fucking piss and never got to finish. A guy who I grew up with, who irritated me, teased me, even made me angry to the point of ripping my hair out, but he was also the one who helped me when I least expected it, showed me a clearer view when everything was muddled, made me laugh when I forgot what laughter was. Your boy got sloppy, and when the police reports said that it was an accident, that my brother overdosed on some fucking drugs, I knew it was a lie. Jackson may be an idiot, but he never touched meth. I did my own personal investigation, followed the trail, because remember Cicero, sloppy kills always leave a trail, then I found Sammy. I found him after three weeks of searching, and sure, I'm glad he's dead because of me, but you know what? Revenge isn't as sweet as I thought it would be, I'm not tasting anything nice, all I taste is blood, metal, and fury. All I think is, why? Why couldn't he fucking get the right man? Why, just why, cause killing him doesn't make a difference, it had to happen, but it doesn't make a difference. Now you're just sad and angry too, now you just want to kill me too, but it's not my fault, it's your sons. He made it personal, he made a mistake." I sighed, finally too exhausted emotionally as my body began to shut down.

Maybe it was all the blood loss of tonight, or maybe I spoke too much and lost oxygen and didn't get to breathe enough, but for whatever reason, everything became dizzy and silent. The sullen gray eyes that were staring at me vanished, the pain ended and everything just stopped.

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_Splash!_

Sputtering, I glanced around, the lights above blinding me.

"She's awake, sir." A coarse voice yelled out and as I recalled everything, I frowned, knowing where I was. Hadn't it ended already? Must I be conscious for all this bullshit?

Those familiar gray eyes came into my vision and I knew it was nearly over.

"You've rested for four days now, you've kept me waiting." He stated, a small smile splaying over his lips.

"Yeah, well, my sincerest apologies." I muttered, realizing that I was now in a bed. My hands were free, but as I shifted, I soon learned that my right ankle was cuffed to a metal rod at the end of the bed.

"It gave me time to think, and though it was my son, the dearest one to me, I realize that he did make such a mistake, one which cost you someone you love, and that feeling is understood by me."

"Are you saying you won't kill me?" I asked, but he laughed, playing with my hair as if we were intimate friends.

"Don't push it, Miss Miley, I'm just saying that you weren't wrong for your actions, but still, you killed my son, and no one can be forgiven for such a thing, however, I've decided to make your death painless. You've been beaten enough, your last meal is tonight, alone, and then you will be taken away for a clean ending."

Maybe I should be thankful, but I wasn't. Maybe I should care, but I didn't. All I knew is that I was starving and couldn't wait for dinner, all I knew is that I was tired and couldn't wait to sleep again.

So what if I sleep for longer than usual?

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**A/N**: _The next update should be soon, and man, I feel all emotional cause it's been so long since I've heard from you all, wow, this is awkward, okay, I'm gonna go cry in the corner of my room, and you just let me know what you think :c_


	2. Execution

**Water Drops Of Red**

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**Ameha Kay**: Thank you for the review and I've missed the magic as well.

**Gunner3284**: Lol, damn is right, I suppose. A lot has happened, care to share your side?

**Dyrsinho**: Aw, I'm glad to be back as well and you will be seeing more of me c: Also, thank you for the compliment [=

**Erin C**: I'm glad to hear you love my stories, but as for not knowing who you are, I have my theories :] I could be wrong, but I'm thinking that your penname is _Heart Skillz_, let me know if I'm right ^.^ You're extremely sweet by the way and I'm sure that if you try hard enough, you'll find the words to describe me :p The update is here, so enjoy Miss Erin L:

**ScaryMiley**: It's lovely to see your review as well, and I definitely know that you enjoy a badass Miley, lol. Thank you and I'm glad you find this story interesting ^.^ You have a swell day as well.

**Guest**: I'm going to go ahead and assume that you are _DoIHaveTo_ since you PM'd me minutes before, lol. Aw, I made you feel like a giddy schoolgirl xD I can't tell you how much I appreciate the compliments and it's always a pleasure talking to you c:

**DemenaLuvr**: Haha, yeah, I'm very safe, thanks for the concern, lol. You and your girlfriend make me smile so hard xD To hear that you two are arguing over your favorite stories of mine, it makes me feel all happy inside so thank you for that [: Okay, no need for threats, here's the update :D

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**Chapter 2: **Execution

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**Miley's POV**

I must say, when Giovanni Adriano Cicero wants to send you out in style, he really knows how to set up a spread. It's funny how this food reminds me of what I might have on Christmas evening, yet there's nothing merry or festive about today.

I'm not the type who's ready to die, actually, thinking back to the Miley about five weeks ago, I was crazy about life and living it to the fullest, enjoying every moment I had. My brother's death crushed that, and understandably so. Forgetting about the initial grief and depression I had whirled into, suspecting, then figuring out he was murdered took me to a different level of living, one in which breathing and moving forward was the only meaning of life. There wasn't a single moment to stop and enjoy the beautiful sky, the calming wind, or to even shed a tear for the one I lost.

The excuse of revenge gave me something to fight my pain with and I used it, abused it even. Now here I am, meeting the end result of my irrational actions. I can't say I regret killing Samuel, I did get some form of therapy out of it. I feel settled now, as if, even though I'm about to hang for what I did, at least his death wasn't a complete lie. I knew the truth, and I wasn't a coward about it. I didn't go to court and cry to newspapers about the infamous gang of criminals. No, instead, I went to the nearest gun shop, purchased a weapon, rented a car and did something in my brother's name.

That's why I won't eat this food despite how hungry I actually am. I'm in the house of these bastards; Samuel probably ate from these plates, drank from this glass, and tasted the food made by these cooks often. I wanted nothing of them to go on with me. There was no point in it. Eating was only necessary if you wanted energy and I won't be needing that for where I'm being sent.

"Eat." The large guard commanded and I glanced over at him, expressionless. He was tall, a bit bulky, but not fat, you could see plainly that he was built, but the muscle wasn't lean or nice, it was just heavy strength that made me wonder if he ever had trouble carrying himself.

His mouth was set into a tight frown and I couldn't help myself as I began to speak.

"Do you want to kill me?" His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened along with his fists.

"Yes." Was the simple, but loaded response.

"Why don't you?"

"Against orders." He gritted out.

"I see, so they strung up your balls so tight, you have no free will?" I questioned seriously and he snarled like some kind of wild animal, but avoided answering.

Laughing for him to hear, I picked up my fork and began to poke at the meat on my plate. It was odd being in a room with this one large dude, my leg cuffed to a chair and the dim lighting which only made everything feel a bit more daunting.

"So, what's your favorite way to kill someone?" I asked, attempting to make conversation.

"Slowly, so they beg for death with every blow, but never know which one will be the last."

"Ah, that's fucked up." I chuckled and he actually smiled slightly, but forced it back.

"What, are you ordered not to laugh too?" I asked and he sighed, cocking his head slightly.

"In a situation like this, yes, now eat."

"Were you close with Satan Sammy?" I pressed causing his eyes to pierce into mine.

"You don't have the right to say his name! Now be quiet and-"

"I killed the moron, I damn well have the right to say his fucking name after what he did." This silenced him for a moment before I tossed my plate onto the floor.

"How dare you, we give you that meal with respect and you shun it?" He questioned, both angered and confused.

"How can you offer me your respect when I don't want it nor would I give mine in return? You all are just idiots, I don't want some nice death because Giovanni _understands_ my pain. Shoot me in the back for all I care, I don't want any honorable ritual shit, just end it already!"

"If it was in my power, you'd have been dead the moment you were brought here. You should be grateful he's giving-"

"Giving? Giving! He has given me nothing! All he's doing is prolonging the taking, he's playing a role, that's all you men do, you play your tough little role with a fake bit of honor here and there as you relish in your illegal dealings and murder anyone who stands in the way. No respect, no honor, no nothing. In the end, you all die and no one remembers how bad you were, just like Satan Sammy, one newspaper article, a week of mourning, then business goes on."

"Shut up." He said in the calmest tone, but his rigid form and shaking jaw spoke otherwise. If I have to die, why shut up?

"What's your name?" I asked suddenly and he frowned, meeting my gaze.

"Francis." He answered. "Call me Frankie." He added, pressing the heel of his shoe into the wall behind him.

"There's always a Frankie." I murmured. "So, what do you do? Walk in front of Giovanni like a robot, say nothing unless told, and if the bullet should come from behind, your orders are to take it in the ass if necessary?"

"Bodyguard." He muttered.

"Isn't that what I just described?" I asked innocently and though he was irritated, he managed to keep his cool. I guess that's what they're good at, been practicing for years.

"So, how much longer?"

"Not much."

"Happy to see me go?"

"Very." He grumbled.

"Well then, it was nice talking to you, Frankie."

"Yeah…" He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. The rest of my _dinner_ was pure awkward silence for him while I took the fork and silently carved my full name into the antique wooden table.

We all strive to leave our mark, and even if mine was small, at least it's here. Until they toss it, that is.

"How's she enjoying the meal?" Giovanni's voice asked as the door opened slightly, but he was still unseen to me while Frankie met him there.

"She refuses our food, tossed the plate." He answered plainly. Giovanni was quiet before he walked in.

"I take it you just want this over with." He said, nearing me.

"Best menu-item this evening." I grinned, staring up at his wrinkled face.

"Frankie, would you?" He requested and with no real expression, Francis reached back, pulling out a black pistol of some sort, disengaging the safety while he aimed for what I'm assuming is my chest. Giovanni's head whipped towards the sound as his eyes widened.

"You fool! Un-cuff her, don't shoot her! I promised her a painless death and I intend to keep my word." He scolded, mumbling a few other things in Italian which I didn't understand that made Frankie look down and away as if he were no more than a child, and not an armed man who could finish the old geyser right this moment.

With a series of apologies, he came over and undid the single cuff, avoiding my gaze as he gripped my upper arm a bit too tight while forcing me to stand.

"Take her to our new girl, she knows what I want done." And with that, Giovanni waved and smiled wickedly as I was dragged roughly out of the room and through the large house.

After my days of rest, they allowed me to shower and I wore my old clothes again, consisting of dark blue jeans, a plain gray tee, an old black jean jacket, and my worn out boots.

As Frankie pulled me all about with force, it did cross my mind to fight him, but considering that the whole place was heavily guarded, even if I managed to escape him, which was improbable, I was certain that I couldn't take on the rest of security.

Finally, all the way in the back of the house, he jerked open a smaller than usual door and practically tossed me in.

"She's all yours." Was Frankie's last statement as the door shut and his presence vanished.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust with how much brighter the lights in here were compared to the ones in the rest of the house.

And then I saw her, whoever she was. Concentrated brown eyes, long, thick black hair, tan skin that just gleamed under these lights, a small nose, and my attention was taken to her exposed arms, so thin, but lean with muscle. Oh dear fuck.

Grateful for her choice in a black tank top, I let my gaze slither down, taking in the black slacks which the tank was half-tucked into with a simple belt securing her slim waist and last, the matching dress shoes that concluded her outfit.

I've never in my life seen a girl dressed so masculine, yet oozing with femininity.

"Hi." She greeted and I was surprised to learn that she didn't have any Italian accent. Actually, if I had to say, she sounded very American. Hm, all that from a hi.

"Uh, hey." I replied, staying where I was.

"So, California, huh?" She asked with a smile.

"Yeah, you?" I asked with a perplexed expression that I quickly let fade since I wasn't sure of what to think or how to handle this situation.

"Born in Texas." She replied before picking up a clipboard. As her attention was diverted from me, I took a moment to look around the room. It was sort of a make shift lab, a bed in one corner, a long metal table in the other, a desk where she was, then a countertop with many things on it from a stethoscope to a microscope.

"You're a doctor?" I asked, confused.

"No." She laughed. "Anesthesiologist, well, I was, then a researcher, soon became interested in poisons, I mainly work in a lab as well as an executioner."

"Executioner?" I asked, swallowing slightly. Chuckling, she shook her head.

"Not the ax-wielding cloaked dude you see in medieval movies, it's a prison job, whenever a convicted felon gets the death penalty, someone has to give them the lethal injection, that's what I do, it's rare that I get called in, but yeah." She finished as I nodded, understanding what she did.

"How'd you become an executioner?" I questioned.

"Well, after becoming an anesthesiologist, I spent a year in the military, then got out and right into a medical lab. My commanding officer who liked me offered the job. The technical term is Judicial Executioner." She added before squinting at her clipboard, and then with a frown, her hand searched around her desk, finding a thin pair of metal frames which she wore to continue reading.

"What about you, what do you do besides killing mafia men in the name of revenge?"

"Um, barrister." I replied.

"Oh, that's like an attorney, right?"

"The term can go hand in hand, but I'm specialized in the legal details and procedures, more like a counselor in my case." I murmured. "I don't get this though…why are you working with the mafia if you're like, part of a judicial and military rank?"

"My father was Italian and worked for Giovanni, I didn't know till recently when they recruited me here." She answered with a small shrug. "They value the access I have to a research facility as well as my skills in executing people."

"And you're okay with that?"

"You're about to learn what a lethal injection feels like and you're worried if I like my job?" She asked with a lifted brow.

"Oh." It's the only word that suited me in this moment; I didn't really know what else to say.

"I have something for you." She stated, reaching into her pocket. Once retrieving the item, she held out her open hand and my gaze narrowed as I moved forward, staring at the silver looking bullet with a golden-like tip sitting in her palm. I didn't hesitate when picking it up to study the little piece.

"Why?" I asked, feeling cold as I enclosed it into a tight fist.

"When Sam found out that he killed your brother, he brought the body to me. Made me swear to keep it a secret and asked me to take the bullet out so he could pay off some cops to write a fake report. Your brother, he was shot with that bullet, well, it's just a shell now." She sighed, dropping her hand.

The light casing of what was once a bullet made my chest hurt, but I ignored the feeling as I watched the girl.

"It's a .357 magnum, shot from Sam's Berretta Stampede, an old Italian revolver." She informed me. "He died instantly if that helps."

"It doesn't." I muttered, pocketing the shell to avoid scrutinizing it anymore. "Why did you keep it?" I questioned.

"I don't really know, it's the first time I removed a bullet from someone's head, his story was sad and I left the shell on my desk, couldn't help but look at it every day. When I heard that Sam was dead over the phone, the first thing I noticed was that bullet shimmering, and I knew it had to be because of what he did."

I nodded for a lack of words and stared at the floor.

"When they were beating you, and you finally told them why you killed Sam, I felt your justice, you weren't wrong." She stated, putting down her papers.

"You were there?" I asked, surprised.

"Giovanni usually makes me watch him torture people; he needs my signal to know when they've had enough so he doesn't kill them. I gave him your signal three minutes before he picked up the bat, I knew you'd pass out from not dealing with the emotional trauma, then killing Sam must have been a shock in itself along with the brutal assault. I'm just amazed you held out for so long."

"Doesn't matter, I passed out for four days."

"Three of which you were in here with me." She disclosed. "Your bruises didn't get treated by a ghost." She chuckled and the first thing I glanced at were my bandaged wrists.

"Thanks. Now before you kill me, what's your name?" I asked curiously.

"Mikayla, Mikayla Marshall." She replied with a relaxed salute.

"Well, if America's finest are all like you, good luck to our citizens."

"Burn." She responded, faking offense.

"So, how is my painless death going to happen?" I questioned, moving back slightly to lean against a wooden post in the left corner while crossing my arms.

"See that tray on the metal table?" Looking over, I could make out the silver tray with a single white pill, a small cup of what I'm assuming is water, and alongside it sat a skinny syringe with a long needle, ready to be used.

"Oh. So, do I drink the pill now?"

"You can, then I'll give you the injection and we're done."

"Will I be buried?"

"No, cremated."

"Why?" With a scowl, she crossed her arms, glancing back at the table as she sucked in a breath.

"Giovanni isn't killing you because you deserve it for murdering his son, he's killing you so that he can put your ashes next to his son's in a glass case with a plaque to honor his son, and a plaque in front of yours saying: The one who murdered Samuel Ettore Cicero. It's sort of a trophy thing he's going for."

"Ah, that makes sense." I sighed, already knowing that these men weren't about honor, they just wanted to look tough and as much as it annoyed me, I didn't care anymore. "I guess we should just get it over with." I finally said after a moment of quiet and she nodded.

"Well, any last wishes before you go? Most people ask for a burger or whiskey." She chuckled.

"Will you really fulfill it?" I wondered and she smiled.

"If it's in my means, yeah." Swallowing back, I thought about all the things I could want before I die, and nothing seemed worth it. If I had to tell you the truth, I didn't feel like I was dying. Speaking with Mikayla was relaxing, her demeanor, calming, and nothing felt serious.

While I stood here, staring at her, searching for some silly last wish, considering a phone call or a last letter to my dad, it seemed to just not matter. An explanation would hurt him more since I was all he had left after Jackson and he had no clue that the same people who killed his son would in a few moments finish off his daughter too.

My dad was already broken and this would just tear at him even more. My chest tightened as I thought about it, how he'd never know the way my brother died, how he'd never know where I went missing and how for the rest of his life he'd have some false hope that maybe I'm still alive.

In that mind-frame, I considered attacking Mikayla, then making a run for it, escaping and returning to my father to be his strength, but knowing these men, they'd just find us both and then it'd be two lives instead of one.

Besides, Mikayla was once military; she could probably protect herself well enough. I'm just a few self-defense classes, five random target shooting sessions, and a mixture of emotions, the leading one being anger which seemed to die down for the most part now.

Her brow lifted as I pushed myself off of the wooden post, standing straight.

"Come here." I requested and while shoving two hands into her front pockets, she walked forward, stopping in front of me.

"Last wish?" She pressed with furrowed brows. Reaching down, I let my fingers wrap around her wrists, removing her hands from her pockets before replacing them with my own, gripping the material with a slow nod.

"Yeah, don't resist." I whispered, before pulling her slightly into me, then leaning the rest of the way to press my lips against her soft ones. There was no protest, no tug away of surprise, no return of the kiss even, it was just my lips touching hers.

This wasn't some last kiss of life, or even the kiss of death, it was just something strange that I wanted to do, to meet my executioner with no objections, no struggles or protest. I just wanted to meet this with acceptance, welcome her even.

"I don't feel like I'm about to die." I whispered, letting my arms round her waist as I broke the kiss, my forehead touching hers as my chest seized, forcing me to let out a painful exhale of air.

"Shh, breathe." She advised, closing her eyes while one of her arms wrapped around my waist as well, the other rubbing up and down my back soothingly. "They say that death is just the start and not the end, you know." She murmured and I nodded, pulling away finally.

"Thanks." And I didn't mean for being the one who had to send me on my way, but for being so kind about it, and for making it seem like a better fate than the one I had anyways, for making it easy. Walking to death, it's intimidating, if you never liked your life, hated it even, at least you knew what life meant, but death was a new side and I wondered if I'd be okay, would I cease to exist, would nothing mean anything, or would I walk into another world, one that I've never imagined?

"Don't thank me, I'll see you soon, maybe you'll be looking down at me." She replied with a forced smile on her lips and I could see that she was deep in thought as well.

"I murdered a man, it may be a face to face meeting." I joked, but we weren't laughing as I began to shrug out of my jacket.

"Face to face it is." She agreed, taking the article of clothing from me. "Drink the pill first." She instructed. Biting back on my teeth, I moved past her, and over to the long metal table. Picking up the pill, I tossed it in the back of my mouth and downed the small serving of water.

By the time I set the cup down, Mikayla had picked up her prepared syringe to do the honors, but I shook my head.

"I'll do it." And without waiting for a yes or no, I took it from her cautious form. "How long?"

"Forty-five to sixty seconds." Before losing the brave feeling coursing through me, I found my vein and slowly slid the needle in, Mikayla's eyes watching closely. Pushing down, I emptied whatever poison this was and pulled it out, dropping the syringe to the floor.

The affects were almost immediate, but that might be the overwhelming emotion I suddenly found, thinking of my dad, and Jackson, and every sad thing about my life.

Then her lips were on mine, again. This was nothing like the first kiss, the first one was calming and honestly nice, but this one was exciting, and I could feel my heart-rate go up as her arm became tight around my waist, the other gripping behind my neck to pull my lips harder against hers. My own hands went to her upper arms, wanting to feel the beautiful lean muscle that I admired earlier. If I'd met this girl some other way, things might be very different and I smiled at the thought as my chest began to seize and my lungs seemed to constrict.

My eyes welled with sudden tears and my knees weakened as they bent, looking for the ground since that's where I was heading now. As I collapsed, my eyes closed, not allowing me one last look at my executioner before everything was becoming of a flurry and I shuddered as the salty liquid met my lips.

That had to be the kiss of death, but if felt more freeing and imprisoning than one could imagine.

I could only whisper one last thing, something that I don't think she could hear because though she was supporting me, I was too far now.

"I'm sorry, dad, forgive me, Jackson." And with that, I gave in, shut down, and accepted the end.

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**A/N: **_So, any thoughts? :3_


	3. Conscience

**Water Drops Of Red**

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**Spezria26**: Lol, all those words seem to fit, and thank you for the review.

**Guest**: Is this it? What do you think? :p

**Gunner3284**: My friend, how could it be over? I appreciate you saying my stories are filled with potential and we'll see if this one lives up to that statement ^.^

**Heart Skillz**: Lol, it wasn't obvious, I'm just a keen observer :p Aw, stop trying then because headaches suck. I'm glad I left you breathless, but find an oxygen tank soon so you can read this chapter c:

**TotalMileyLover**: First off, awesome username c: And damn, five times, you've read my stories more than I have, lmao. Well, you'll be glad to have this chapter then, and it makes me smile to see that you're hooked. In all honesty, so am I L: Thank you for the compliment and the nice review.

**MusicInMySoul**: Wow, o.o Lol, thanks for that nice little outburst.

**FallenSoldier15**: I thought you might like her military background and you'll be glad to see this chapter then ^.^ I missed you both as well, and thank you, I'm happy you two are doing good yourselves L:

**DoIHaveTo**: Lol, I haven't a clue, webpages are odd. I don't think being complimented on my writing will ever get boring, lmao. To be honest, I've thought about doing that, but I never get around to it because I feel bad about disappointing you all even if it's just a prank. Looks like next time has arrived, so enjoy this c:

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**Chapter 3: **Conscience

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**Miley's POV**

Flashes of gray, black, dark, bright. I don't know what this is, but it's not fun because I feel.

I can feel.

Discomfort: dead people don't feel this. My insides ached while my forehead was pulsating.

I'm dead, but it's not painless. These flashes are torturing me and I don't know what's happening as everything begins to whirl. I wonder if this is the dying part and I feel a sudden prick. Pain.

This is not a painless death is all I can think and it angers me because that's the one thing I was promised and senselessly expected.

Then nothing, blank. Is this what dead feels like? Nothing? But if it's nothing, then why can I compare it to nothing? Shouldn't it just be…nothing, non-existent?

Trying, I'm trying. Fighting, I want to see. See if I'm something or if I can see what's going on.

And then I hear myself. I hear a groan, pushing past weak lips. This noise gives me the strength to open my eyes, the lids only allowing me to squint as it rejects a small light that I think is a lamp. I'm not in a box, that's for sure, and I'm not a pile of ashes being displayed alongside Samuel in some glass case.

Motionless, devoid of all strength and known mobile ability, I stare up at the ceiling, it's low, popcorn style, and the color is light. Letting my eyes travel from side to side, I take in this surrounding as best I can. There are two windows left of me, heavily covered by thick curtains, then a bureau on the right, bracing against the wall. I can barely make out a door in front and the strain makes me gasp out suddenly from the attempt to lift my neck.

Giving in to whatever exhaustion this is, I close my eyes and hope to recuperate. If I could just figure out how to move, I'd be alright. I'm not sure of what's happening to me, but I can't even form theories with how much pain I feel but don't. It's numbing and discomforting, wrong, and awkward.

My lips are parched, I can tell while wanting to run my tongue over them, but even that feels dry. I need water, but my voice refused to break through and all thoughts die away as my mind refuses to stay conscious.

* * *

"Miley." That's my name.

"Miley, you need water, wake up." A hand is gripping my cheek and I shudder, my eyes flying open.

"Mmph." I utter unable to form a word, staring up in shock at…Mikayla.

"Shh, your throat is extremely dry, if you drink, you'll have an easier time talking." She explained and my eyes darted to the cup in her right hand.

After a moment, she slid her hand further behind my neck firmly and guided me up a bit to help me drink. Once my mouth pressed to the edge of that cup and the cool water sloshed against my thirsty lips, my mouth opened on its own, consuming it with need. My throat felt soothed and my lips might smile if I could from how refreshing this liquid tasted. My hand came up as well to grip the bottom of the cup, tipping it all the way and once it was done, Mikayla laid my head back down gently as I tried to catch my breath, staring up at her.

"How do you feel?" She asked, setting the empty cup down on a nearby nightstand.

"I thought the meeting was face to face." I muttered, lifting my hands up to stare at them, uncertain of what to make of my current condition. Looking back at her, she seemed confused, then easily broke out into a small laugh, remembering our conversation.

"You're right." She agreed and instantly got down on her knee, resting her forearms on the edge of the bed.

"So now, how do you feel?" She asked again.

"Numbish." Was the word I used to describe it.

"Pull your right leg up, then your left." She advised. I did as told to find that I could move both with ease.

"Good, now give me your hands, let's see if you can stand." She said, getting back up and offering her hands. I accepted them and sat up, letting my legs slide down to the floor, my bare feet meeting the soft carpet before I rose up, my muscles feeling achy and tight, but completely functional.

"Can I get that burger now?" I asked as my stomach burned with hunger.

"Sure, go into the bathroom, everything you need is in there, clean up, shower, and I'll be back with some food." She headed for the door, but my hoarse voice stopped her with a statement.

"I don't understand."

"You will." She replied without even looking back and then left, disappearing completely before I walked out, checking each room to find the one I needed.

A new toothbrush sat on the edge of the sink which I noticed right away while looking at myself in the mirror.

"Shit." I muttered since that's exactly what I saw. My lips were dry, my face was paler than usual, my hair was a tangled mess, and I smelled terrible now that I was realizing it.

Shedding my clothes quickly, I washed my face, opened the packaged toothbrush and made quick work of brushing. After a shower that included washing my hair, I wore the clothes hanging on a towel rack for me, blue panties, a bra surprisingly my size, a pair of gray jeans, and a plain black tee.

When I was almost out of the bathroom, a thought struck me, compelling me to pick up my old jeans and search through the pockets to find the silver and golden shell. Refusing to think too much, I shoved it into my new pocket and continued towel drying my hair as I walked back into the room I had recently woken up in.

Looking through the bureau drawers, I managed to find a pair of black socks that I could make use of. Then sitting on the edge of the bed, I pulled them on, folding them down to my ankles since they were long and as I pulled the jeans back into place, I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around my right knee, pressing my forehead into it.

What the hell happened?

A few sounds of movement from down below pulled me out of my thoughts, persuading me to get up and search for her. When I found Mikayla, she was bent over the dining table, tapping away at a laptop keyboard and looked up to see me with a welcoming smile.

"Feel fresh?"

"Yeah."

"The white paper bag is yours." She stated, pointing to the parcel on the other end of the table. Picking it up and opening the top, I looked in to see two wrapped up burgers and a large serving of French fries. "Drinks are in the fridge, kitchen's through the door behind me."

Taking out a burger, I went to set it on the table, assuming it was for her.

"That's yours, trust me, you'll want it." She chuckled and nodding, I walked off to where she said the kitchen was while unwrapping my first burger and biting into it as decently as I could in all my hunger. The very taste of the seared meat, perfectly cooked, with onions, tomatoes, lettuce, pickles, and ketchup overwhelmed me. By the way I stared at the food in my hand, you might think I've never eaten before and I took an even larger bite, sighing contently as I opened the fridge, scanning for something suitable to drink.

There were bottles of beer and water, cans of soda, juice boxes that made my brows go up, and a carton of organic milk. Settling on a can of ginger ale, I managed to pop the top open while still holding onto all of my belongings. After the long swig that burned my throat, I continued to eat, randomly shoving fries into my mouth while I walked to the small window and stared out. It seemed that wherever I was, the evening had set in and it was soon to be night.

"Enjoying that?" An amused voiced asked, making me turn to look at Mikayla, my mouth still full from the beginning of my second burger. Chewing slowly, I took in her appearance. She was in a new pair of slacks, black, but these ones were different, they fit her better, almost as though they were custom-made to hug her legs by the way they narrowed to her form. With it, she had on a black and gray plaid shirt with two of the tops buttons left undone, revealing a white undershirt and I smiled seeing that she wore green fuzzy slippers which threw off the whole outfit.

Looking down to where my gaze lingered, she laughed.

"Hey, comfort over style." She defended and swallowing down my food, followed by a sip of soda, I was able to reply.

"The burgers are amazing, best I've ever tasted, I think, and your slippers do look comfy." I agreed, inhaling. She crossed her arms, seeming about to respond, but never got the chance.

"Why am I alive?" I suddenly asked, unable to prolong the question.

"Why?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know why, I couldn't answer that, but I can tell you how."

"How?"

"Simple, I didn't kill you."

"We're back to why again." I frowned and leaning against the kitchen counter, she seemed to think about her response for a moment.

"I don't know."

"Didn't you inject, well…I injected myself with poison."

"No, that was general anesthesia, three cc's of sodium thiopental to be exact."

"What about the pill?"

"Vicoden; it's a simple pain drug, the purpose being to slow your heart rate down."

"Why was that necessary?"

"So that when Francis carried your body out, he wouldn't suspect that you were still breathing."

"And Giovanni?"

"He has his ashes, just doesn't know that they're of an already dead body from my research lab."

"How'd you get all that past Frankie?" She chuckled at that.

"Frank's not…the brightest in the world. I exposed him to halothane, knocked him right out so by the time we left the crematorium, he assumed he napped through the whole thing and you were safely hidden in my trunk."

"What's halothane?"

"A gas."

"Like sleeping gas?"

"Mhm."

"How'd you know to do all that?" With lifted brows, she shook her head.

"Miley, I was an anesthesiologist, meaning I know a lot about anesthesia; Halothane, Sodium thiopental, these are general uses, easy for me to get with my job, and simple to administer."

"Why'd you go through all that trouble?"

"What trouble? It was easier doing all that than killing you."

"How is it easier?"

"My conscience overpowers my laziness."

"Oh, I see." I kind of lost myself thinking about it now. She was never going to kill me, not for a moment. She didn't change her mind because I kissed her, she knew from the beginning when she set the pill and syringe out, she knew before I'd even been sent to her. Sliding my hand into the right pocket of my jeans, I felt the small shell and held it in there while turning back to face the window so I could stare outside.

"Thank you." I murmured just loud enough for her to hear it. She didn't respond, but soon her hand found my shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"The meds are still in your system, you've been out for over two days, your body didn't like the drugs very well. I'm going to leave, Giovanni needs me. Stay here and rest, no matter what you do, do not push yourself till I get back."

Feeling her hand slide into my pocket, I looked down, watching the small paper go in before she backed away.

"That's my card, anything happens, call the number, but don't speak. I'll call back." And she was gone, the small explanation not doing much justice to all my questions, but I didn't care to ask because the answers seemed so pointless.

All I know is that I'm alive though I wasn't supposed to be. I'm relieved in one sense and not in another.

* * *

I must have stared out that window dazed for hours before the silence got to me. Walking through her house, I checked all around before finding a black jacket that suited me and a few thousand dollars stashed away in the drawer of what I believe is her study. I didn't take it all, just a few hundred to get me where I needed.

I wrote a note and left it on the desk in her study with a simple explanation:

_"Thank you, but I'm needed elsewhere. I'll return your money and pay back for the jacket. –M."_

When I walked out of her house that night, chills ran through me. The air was strange and the territory, unfamiliar, but I managed to find my way around, my only destination being the last person my heart was beating for.

I wanted to start over, get him and stay safe, away from these people even if that meant hiding. I didn't mind hiding as long as we were together and I'd never forget what Mikayla's done for me, unexpected as it was.

I had memorized her address, so that I could mail her what I owe later on, but I don't owe her my safety or presence, that's my dad's.

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**A/N**: _Hmm, so, reviews maybe? o.o_


	4. Inevitable

**Water Drops Of Red**

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**SuperGravyMan**: I dislike the taste of cherry cough syrup so that really sucks, lol. Thank you for the comparison to Stephen King, I've never read one of his novels, but if the movies do them justice, then I take it you're saying my story is sort of realistically scary and/or giving you an eerie feeling? I appreciate that and the review so I'll try to keep it up L:

**Sprezria26**: Wow, you love me? Man, hearing that makes me feel special as hell, lmao xD I send you my love in return, and thank you for the review, maybe your questions will be answered throughout the story ^.^

**ScaryMiley**: Loved that enthusiastic review, thank you for the compliment while the pleasure of sharing this story is all mine.

**Ameha Kay**: Glad the mood of the Fic got to you, thanks for letting me know.

**Heart Skillz**: Lol, I didn't read your profile, I actually remembered you, then double checked to be certain, and sure enough, I was right c: I try to keep up with people who follow my work, and for following, I thank you [= Enjoy this chapter, Erin, lol.

**Gunner3284**: Lmao, I was thinking exactly that when I wrote her leaving, she's so stubborn. Thanks for the funny input, I must have laughed for a good three minutes ^.^

**DoIHaveTo**: Lmao, I see what you did there. Damn, focus on school, not reading my story! You better get a good grade on that essay or I shall withhold the next chapter and all the other readers can blame you xD And yes, conscience is a real word which by dictionary definition means: "the inner sense of what is wrong or right in one's conduct or motives, impelling one toward right action." As for NLG, I wish I knew, but sometime after this story is well underway or maybe complete, I shall give my focus to that story.

**FallenSoldier15**: Lmao, she's a rogue soldier which makes it even hotter c: Thank you so very much for those wonderful compliments, I take them all to heart and I'm going to try and do my best [:

**Luz4mj1995**: Aw, hey there, it has been a while and it's a pleasure hearing from you again ^.^ Gracias for the review, please don't cry, and enjoy this update L:

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**Chapter 4: **Inevitable

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**Miley's POV**

"So, there's absolutely no way to rent a car?" I asked one last time.

"Without your license, I'm afraid not." The man replied with a serious and sullen expression. He seemed to really want to help me, but considering that I had no proof of identity, there wasn't much for him to do. "It's the business policy of Enterprise, maybe you could call a family member or a friend to come and get you."

"Yeah, thanks." I muttered, turning away from him. It was nearly ten p.m. and I was still on the lower east side of Manhattan, New York, trying to find a way back to California. My wallet was left at the Cicero's residence and I had no hope of getting it back.

"Do you have a laptop I could use?" I asked suddenly, struck with an idea.

"Um, it's against p-"

"Policy, I know, but I'd like to e-mail a business associate to fly out here with my identification."

"Can't you call?" He asked, his hand hovering over the phone nearby.

"I tried earlier, his phone is off and he reads his e-mail every few hours, it'd be the best way." I lied, successfully convincing the man wearing a name-tag that said Jimmy on it. With an anxious sigh, he nodded and put up his index finger, indicating that he needed a moment before he disappeared, then soon returned with a medium black Acer notebook.

"Try to be quick." He advised, handing it over.

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate the help." I forced myself to gush before walking to the furthest seat from him to sit down and make use of the internet.

Pulling up a Google webpage, I quickly typed my question into the search bar:

'_How to hotwire a car'_

I spent over half an hour looking through various ways to carry out the illegal deed and managed to watch two videos to get a better look at the inner workings. I even went back to Jimmy, borrowed some paper and wrote down my findings.

This may be a rash decision, but I want to get out of this damned city, a place that I never wish to set foot in again for all I've seen of it.

Folding up the single page, I shoved it into my back pocket, deleted the history on his laptop, and handed it back.

"If you have no place to stay, I have a spare room." Jimmy suddenly offered when I was near halfway out of the rental agency.

"Oh no, I appreciate you staying open past regular hours for me, but I can't ask for that."

"It would be no trouble at all." He said with a genuine smile and I know that sleazes dwell around this area, looking for women to take advantage of, but there was something innocent about Jimmy that said his offer was sincere. Whether or not it was, I'll never know because I'd already decided to get out of New York tonight itself, and once my mind was set, there was little even I myself could do to change it.

"That's very kind of you, but do you know where the nearest hardware store is?" I questioned and scratching his head, he replied.

"Um, there's a twenty-four hour place seven blocks down, when you exit here, walk up to the main road, then turn left and seven blocks down, you'll see the bright neon sign."

"Thanks Jimmy, you've been a great help, have a good night." I wished politely and he returned the kindness with a bright smile and wave as I left and made my way to the next place that I hoped would provide what I needed.

From there, things became easy. I found the Phillips head screwdriver I needed, wire cutters and strippers, a long metal rod, black electrical tape, a small flashlight and insulated gloves.

"What are you trying to do, break into a car?" The cashier, an older gentleman, tall, but bent slightly as if his spine had curved over the years with piercing green eyes and a straight-set mouth asked seriously as he loaded my things into a brown paper bag, then a white plastic bag, leaving the thin metal rod out as it was too long.

"Is it that obvious?" I asked in a wisplike voice and before I could take what I had purchased, his hand seized mine, not in an alarming manner, but rather in a stern way.

"Oh yes, but why does a pretty young girl like you need to do something like that for?" Lacking a better answer, I shrugged and let my startled hand slacken in his.

"Desperate times."

"I see, but if I wanted to play the Good Samaritan and tried calling the cops, what would you do?" Frowning at him, I shook my head grimly.

"I wouldn't let you do that."

"Do you think you could stop me?" He asked, tilting his head slightly and it was at that gesture I realized he wasn't going to do anything, but rather was being entertained at this turn in conversation.

"I wouldn't want to, but if I had no choice, no doubt." And he beamed as he leaned in further.

"A tip for you then, avoid the newer models of cars, go for something old, easier to handle for a first timer."

"That advice will be put to use."

"Good, oh and I won't be reporting you so long as you don't drive off in my blue 2007 Chevy Silverado, got that?" Chuckling, I nodded.

"Got it, sir." I answered, feeling reprimanded but approved all at once.

"Alright, hurry on then, it's late as it is." He said gruffly, letting go of my hand. Picking up my bag and rod, I made my way for the door, pausing to turn back and give him a smile to which he called out:

"I better not see you on some damn Wanted poster, be careful out there."

"You take care." Was the only response I could muster up, warmly, but warily before I left.

I walked down the main road for a while before turning into a quiet street. The barren lane was uncomfortable, but I pushed myself to head further down, scanning over each and every car I saw.

A jet black Acura Integra was the first one to stop me. The hatchback design was pleasing and taking out the newly purchased flashlight, I went closer to the car's windshield to read the year on the registration sticker and felt successful to learn that it was a 1992 model that seemed to be in decent condition. Whoever owns this won't be pleased, I thought as I glanced around before setting my bag down, taking out the Phillips screwdriver.

Holding the flashlight in my mouth, it illuminated the interior of the vehicle while I pulled the top of the car door forward, then pushed the screwdriver in the doorjamb to create a gap so I could slide the metal rod in. It took a lot of force, but a moment later, I guided the end of the long metal rod to hit the unlock button and exhaled at my success as I had it open.

Part one, complete.

Looking around once more to make sure I was still alone, I opened the driver's side door, tossed my bag of materials lightly onto the passenger seat and got in, engaging the safety locks to feel a bit safer. Now before the owner comes out, I better start this thing, I realized, taking all of my materials out of the bag.

The small flashlight was so awkward in my mouth, but I ignored it as I read over the instructions I had scribbled down before deciding I had to give it a try in fear that a cop might roll down this street at any moment.

Underneath the steering wheel was its column which I made quick work of, removing the top and bottom screws. After prying the plastic panel off, I found the ignition cylinder with all the intimidating wires running to it. Cautiously, I located the battery wire and a starter wire which were both red and putting on the gloves to avoid any electrical mishaps I picked up the wire cutter and cut the ends of them both.

With the wire stripper, I stripped those ends, and as soon as I twisted them together, the radio clock turned on, as well as the dashboard lighting up, letting me know that I did it right. Feeling a little on edge, I identified that there were two brown starter wires, so after cutting and stripping them, I touched the ends together and the engine roared to life. Grabbing the electrical tape, I taped the ends of the exposed starter wires to avoid being shocked by accident later on, then chuckled breathlessly, a little stunned at how simple that was.

Pushing off my gloves, I loaded everything back into the bag and dropped it in the backseat with the metal rod, keeping the screwdriver, however, since the steering wheel lock was still in place. Jamming the tool in between the top of the wheel and its column, I pried it open and turned the wheel with ease.

Dropping the screwdriver on the car seat right of me, I strapped on my seatbelt, looked in the rear and side mirrors, changed gears and took off in the _borrowed_ Acura.

The drive was so quiet at this time of night and nearing twelve a.m., I found a gas station about a mile down the road, stopping there to use the bathroom, freshen up, and get a few things I'd need.

"Where do you keep the road maps?" I asked the uninterested employee who looked up from his cell-phone to point at a rack of magazines. Looking through it, I frowned, not seeing any maps right away, but after a short while of digging I found them buried behind a stack of Playboys. I'll admit, I considered buying one, but quickly rolled my eyes, suppressing a smile at my newfound interest while I picked up a few snacks, and paid for a full tank of gas, along with a bottle of Tylenol since my head was beginning to hurt.

I know Mikayla said I shouldn't push myself, but I know my body well. If I need to shut down, I'll do it, but I've been sleeping for so long already, and that's not something I care to get used to.

More importantly, I'm in a stolen car. Soon enough the owner of this Acura will report it and authorities will be alerted, meaning I need to get where I'm going fast since the drive will take over two days, three if I sleep.

I didn't sleep. I eventually merged onto the Interstate Highway which was pretty busy and then took on miles of endless road, a battle raging on in my head. At each toll-booth, I wondered if they'd know I was in a stolen car and take me in, but I was lucky to get halfway through my trip without that happening.

After a day and a half, I exited the Interstate and headed down a local road so I could find a public area. When I did, I went into a diner, ate a plate of ravioli, gulped down a hot cup of coffee, freshened up and left.

With lots of consideration in my actions, I managed to break into and hotwire another car, a 1996 Ford Taurus. It was unappealing, gray, and dull, but all I knew is that simple was best.

And that ended my carjacking streak because I managed to finish my journey back home within the next day. To say I was exhausted doesn't even describe the way my eyes drooped and how my body was in literal pain.

I think it was the thought of leaving here with my dad that kept me awake and going. That's why after ditching the Ford in a dead-end street, I walked half a mile to my dad's place. He used to own a beach house right in front of the water in Malibu. It was my haven for over twelve years and though Jackson and I grew up and left, my dad always resided there so that when we returned, we could have a taste of home.

Nostalgia is such a strong yearning, and when it's fulfilled, there's no explaining it.

Death is the absence of everything fulfilling and I guess that's why my dad moved.

I don't blame him at all; he had to live in the memory of our happier times during our years as just crazy kids, then even nuttier teenagers. Dwelling in the thoughts of a painful parting is too much to ask so I said nothing when he sold the beach house and bought a smaller place on the outskirts of Malibu.

I'd only been there two times and it never really had that safe, warm feeling. It was unfamiliar and detached, but I didn't consider that till now as I opened the gate and walked up the path.

Do you ever wonder if a house could speak to you? That maybe you'd know it's foundations so well, the scents so strong, and the atmosphere so clearly, that when you stand in front of it, it would greet you and say come on in, or warn you to stay out.

This had to be the worst feeling, wondering if this house was talking to me, but not knowing it well enough to understand. How I was certain that the door was already open, I couldn't tell you as I stepped into the silent entryway.

"Dad?" I called out, gaining no response and right away, a pang slammed into my chest, the kind that made my heart flutter painfully where it rested and my hands shook, not from lack of sleep, but from anxiousness.

"Dad?" But this one was practically whispered. Staying at the foot of the stairs, a harsh smell hit my nostrils and despite my jaw tightening for control, tears slid down my face regardless. I knew that smell, it's not something you forget. Yes, death has a scent, a putrid one that keeps you still or makes you gag.

And dear reader, I know that you're peeking into my thoughts, and that you're waiting for me to explain what I'm feeling, but how can I put into words what loss really is? How can I rightly tell you how to understand me when I'm still working towards it? How can I give you words that will never capture that in one moment, at the bottom of my father's stairs, I'm frozen, and wondering why a hole just ripped its way into my chest?

Sharp swallows, harsh breaths, scattered thoughts, fisted hands, heavy knees, and one broken spirit.

My heart, you wonder? Let's not bother with something previously destroyed.

I'm spiraling into misery as I stand here, knowing and not knowing, but I know. I know what happened, I just don't know why or how. Soon I'll learn how because I'm gripping the railing with my left hand and my right palm is spread flat against the wall for support as I take one stair at a time. There are some things you never want to see, but you make the decision to open your eyes because there's no other choice. I can't accept this till I've seen it, but I know that once I see it, I won't accept it.

"Dad." I whispered as I neared the open bathroom door. I wasn't sure if he was in there or not, but I prepared myself anyways before stopping in front of it and turning.

"Dad!" I shuddered, instantly backing away till I hit the opposing wall, revolted and hiding my face as I collapsed in a rush of pure dread. "Dad!" My jaw fell loose, my breathing becoming more ragged with each second, and my chest convulsed with sharp pains. "Dad!" I was hunched over on the carpet, hiding my face between my forearms as I gasped and didn't think I'd ever be able to get up again.

Seeing me, you might believe that I were bowing down before God, begging for something, and to be honest, I was. I wanted this to be fake, unreal, my imagination, just a nightmare, anything, but that didn't happen, I never woke up in my bed. I never found that this life was just a nightmare. Instead, I continued to live it.

"_Mile_." I can hear his voice so clearly and I hold onto it, the way he said my name when I was just a little girl, with such love and adoration as I looked up and smiled back.

"Dad!" There was no pulling myself together; there was just facing it.

So finally after what seemed an eternity of crying, with tears still streaming freely, I dragged myself and nearly crawled my way into the bathroom as my legs wouldn't stand properly.

On one knee at this point, I gaped at him, floating in a pool of polluted liquid, his brown eyes open, but eerie and dull. His skin was sickly and pale which disgusted me to my very core from how tan and bright his complexion was the last time I had seen him.

Taking in the full form, his clothes were ripped randomly and a slight bruise was on his face along with damaged fists that let me believe he fought back. All the bullet wounds terrified me because there were more than I could handle, two in his left leg, one on his right thigh, another in his shoulder, and a cluster of bullets pierced into his chest.

Why so many? I don't understand. Why so fucking many? That wasn't it. Whoever carried this through wanted to see him bleed because his left wrist was slashed and I guess it was that leaking vein that would explain why the water is such a blinding shade of red.

They must have wanted to wade in his blood too because the tub had overflown, it's why my legs are soaked against these tile floors.

I'm less hysterical now. I'm not quaking like I was earlier, I'm confounded.

"Your eyes, dad, they were beautiful." I whisper unable to bear looking at the lifeless orbs as I reached over with the intention of simply closing them, but once my hand touched his cold skin, it stayed there, cupping his cheek. He would always say my eyes were beautiful because they reminded him of my mom's and though I was grateful for getting her blue eyes, I never told him now nice his hazel ones were, so inviting and kind, simple and comforting.

His right hand was hanging out from the edge of the tub, so I held it tightly and sat down with him, pressing his hand to my cheek, keeping it there.

Tears are a clear liquid. They reflect whatever appears to them. That's why these tiny drops of water reflected all the red of my father's bloody death.

Leaning closer to embrace the mess of him, my hair got wet; my body was damp, and the smell, morbid, yet I refused to move.

Forgetting sanity, I dipped my left fingers into the blood-water above his sandy brown hair, gazing at the ripples that my tear drops mirrored, then gripped his right hand tighter in mine and wept with all my might.

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**A/N**: _Um, review?_


	5. Trust

**Water Drops Of Red**

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**A/N: **I won't be responding to reviews, but thank you to all who read and reviewed.

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**Chapter 5: **Trust

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**Miley's POV**

"Miss, I just set the headstone in, I'm finished." Brandon, the nightshift worker at this cemetery informed me. I had been standing by the gate, staring out at the mass of trees and bushes surrounding the reserved area.

"Thanks." I rasped, fishing into the newly washed black jacket for an envelope of seven thousand dollars, then handed it over. I could hear him shove it into his uniform pocket before I looked back to see the tombstone I had paid him to carve and set in the ground for me.

"Mind if I ask you a question?" He started hesitantly.

"Sure."

"Why'd you spend all night digging that grave yourself? I would have done it if you asked."

"I know, but it's my fault he's dead, it was only right." Brandon was quiet as he retrieved the shovel and I glanced up at the sun that was peeking out of clustered clouds. My arms and back ached with the pain of my non-stop effort to make my father's underground haven in the space he'd purchased next to Jackson's grave. Three plots, Jackson's, his, and mine. Two filled, one to go, I thought wryly.

Once I had buried my father, Brandon being the only person working last night agreed to carve the tombstone while I left to go clean up and get a few things I needed. I bought his skill and his silence with a fair amount of money because I didn't care to report this; the world didn't know my father, they wouldn't care if he died or how he died and when he was buried. Everything just keeps on going for them while I stare at his grave, in pain and frozen, still wondering if this is all my imagination.

It's hard to accept that he's gone. First it was Jackson which was nearly impossible to grasp, but now…I just don't know, it's all surreal.

"I hope you don't mind, but while you were digging, I took this off of him." Brandon informed me in a soft voice, holding out the brown leather necklace that carried my father's silver cross. "I thought you might want it, as a keepsake." My eyes narrowed and taking the shovel from his hold, I stalked over to the plot of dirt meant for me and dug a two foot hold about one foot wide.

"Drop it." I stated, turning back to him and with a stance of uncertainty, he walked over and let the small piece of jewelry fall in. Inhaling, I reached into my pocket once more and pulled out the shell I still had from Jackson's death and added it in the small hole before I shoveled the dirt back on.

"I don't want any part of it, I don't want to carry them around with me." I shuddered, handing the tool over.

"Okay, that's understood." He murmured slowly, accepting it. "I'm gonna go now, my shift was over an hour ago and I need to get home."

"Goodbye." I said simply.

"He must have been a great man, I'm sorry and I pray that he rests in peace."

"He will soon, thank you." I whispered and then Brandon walked off, leaving me with the memories of my family. There's nothing left for me here anymore, I thought with a heaviness settling in my throat that spread across my shoulders, upsetting me as it carried on.

I walked back to my father's truck. He bought it just a few months ago, a dark gray GMC Sierra that he'd wanted for so long and enjoyed so little. Climbing into the driver's side, I headed back to his place, knowing exactly what I had to do.

It's like my head is clear and I'm free of fear. I know what I need and how to get it done, and even if I don't know, I guess I'm not worried about figuring it out.

Pulling up in front of my dad's place a long while later, I went inside and into his home office. Taking the house phone, I dialed the number on Mikayla's card, waiting out the rings before hanging up. I stared at the phone for less than fifteen seconds before it rang and picking it up, I answered.

"You there?"

"Miley." It was a statement, a very soft, surprised one.

"You did me a favor and didn't kill me. I'm doing you the same in return. Get out, go away, because once I get there, revenge is all I'll see." She contemplated my words for a moment before replying.

"What happened?"

"I buried my father this morning." Another long stretch of silence passed.

"Did you sleep yet?"

"No."

"Eat?"

"Sure."

"Will you rest first?"

"Are you going to leave?"

"I need time."

"That's fine, but be gone in two days."

"You shouldn't have left."

"I disagree."

"I'm sorry." She exhaled audibly, a sound to which I nodded, keeping my own breathing controlled.

"Me too." And I hung up, heading out of the room, towards the back, and into the tool shed with purpose.

Here my father kept everything he loved, from the truck I was now using to the one item I was most interested in, his black Mossberg 590 shotgun. Since it had a strap, I slung it over my right shoulder and looked past the selection of accessories, till I found his cases of untouched ammunition. I opened one and picked up a box of shells, then quickly fed six of them into the shotgun to make sure they were the right kind.

Once certain, I picked up the case of shells and walked out to the truck, setting it down in the back next to my duffle bag, then placed the shotgun on the car floor. Getting in again, I took off, heading back to New York.

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The two-day drive felt like a long interval of nothing. Just more wasted time that left me to think, the one activity I refused to actually do as my blurry vision stayed focused on the road.

You could say a smile was sleeping right beneath my tight frown as I stopped right in front of the Cicero Residence at eight p.m. while the disease of night was beginning to penetrate the sky.

Was I even thinking?

I got out of the car, tucked my keys into my jeans pocket, opened the back door, picked up the loaded shotgun along with extra shells which I shoved in my jacket pockets, then slammed the door harshly as if it was time my presence was known. Pulling the slide back so that a round entered the chamber of the gun, I switched off the safety, making my weapon ready to use.

This may be suicide since I knew that guards were posted all around, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Instead, I walked around to the back of the property, kicked the gate open and headed in. Security hadn't come out this far on the land, but soon enough I'd run into one of them.

"An armor of anger and a shotgun to boot." A crisp voice observed, making me whip around to see Mikayla. I didn't bother to aim at her, simply letting the heavy firearm hang at my side.

"I should have known you wouldn't leave."

"What can I say, I hate missing the action." She replied with a grin as I nodded, my eyes drinking in her form. This time she wore fitting gray slacks, those black dress shoes with neatly done laces, a matching collared shirt, and a brown vest over it. Her arms were folded against her chest and the tip of her right shoe began to dig into the dirt.

"You should go." I advised.

"Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing."

"I'm not leaving."

"You don't have a choice." She replied calmly. "You're reasonable, Miley. I know you expected to storm in here and leave a bloodbath, but I can't let you do that."

"What, you're loyal to Cicero now?"

"Maybe I am, I let you go because it wasn't fair, if I'd have known they were going to kill your dad, I would have let you died easily that night."

"And what now? I'm alive, I'm here, gonna finish the job?"

"That's up to you. You want to live, walk away, and don't come back."

"You know, I thought you were decent, that I could trust you. Don't know why when you betray your country every day, betray your boss, what a joke honesty must be to you."

"I get that you're mad, I do, but don't take it out on me."

"I'm not, you're the one standing in my way." I spat, my fingers suddenly tightening around the handle of the shotgun, an action she noticed right away.

"What, you're gonna shoot me?" She questioned, the left corner of her mouth twitching upwards. I don't trust her, not one bit, not now.

"No, I won't." I admitted, letting it fall lightly to the ground. "But I will fight you."

"I'll win." She stated.

"You won't." And she laughed lightly with a shake of her head.

"I don't know if I can do this."

"And why not?"

"I'm not so keen on fighting a girl who's wearing my jacket." Looking down, I learned that this was the one I took when I ran off and couldn't help the chuckle that escaped me as I shed the garment and laid it next to the gun.

"Better now?" I drawled and her eyes roamed over my whole body to the point where I felt exposed. I only had on a white sleeveless top, leaving my thin arms exposed with a pair of old black jeans and even older, but comfortable boots.

"Much." She murmured as her eyes returned to mine. "Well, go on, attack me." She dared and knowing that I wouldn't, I realized that neither could she, but what she could do was drug me. That's what she did best; with me, then with Frankie and who knows who else. She's probably feeling so smug because she'll never even have to lift a hand, just slip me something and before I know it, game over.

Well, no. I won't let her touch me. That's my plan.

"What are you waiting for?" She asked, looking so comfortable that it made my adrenaline rush out, spurring me to grab the shotgun, turn around and just run for it.

"What the-!" She half-exclaimed, clearly not ready for this and I forced back a smile as I escaped through the gate, sprinting around the property.

"Really, you're making me run!" She huffed out and glancing back, I could see that she was right on my tail, a good fifteen feet back, but gaining quickly.

Engaging the safety, then throwing the gun over my shoulder, I found myself at the locked front gate and began climbing.

"Fuck, come on!" She protested, scaling up after me. It's the drop that slowed me because I lost my footing and slipped, falling backwards on my ass.

She was too close so I figured that I'd never make it to keep running. Instead, I cried out in pain and nursed my ankle.

"Shit." She muttered, dropping down next to me. "Let me see." She offered, reaching for the supposedly injured foot, but her eyes were met with a fistful of dust while I scrambled up and took off once more. "Fuck, I was actually trying to help you!" She yelled out and turning back as I ran, I let out a real laugh, watching her swiping at her eyes vigorously while she continued to curse herself for being lured into such a silly trap.

Standing up quicker than I expected, her vision recovered and she swiftly raced towards me on long legs.

"Stop this, Miley! I'm serious." Ignoring her warning, I just kept running towards the house, the front door becoming clearer and clearer before I was tackled to the ground. "Dammit, why don't you listen!"

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I demanded, grabbing both of her wrists as I shifted underneath her, getting on my back. "I'm here for something, you're the one in my way!"

"I did you a damn favor and-"

"I didn't ask for any favors, you should have let me died, that way I'd never know how they killed my father, and I'd never be here fighting with you!" She stilled a little and then tugged at her hands.

"Let me go." She ordered.

"Get off of me."

"Fine, you first."

"You won't get off, I know it." I sighed, dropping my head down.

"You don't know that, just let go."

"Why won't you let me kill Cicero?"

"That's my business, let go or I'll have to hurt you."

"Fuck you." I growled, smashing my head forward into hers which hurt like hell, though it gave me a moment to get away and reach for the shotgun, but she managed to kick it, seizing my foot in the process.

Tugging my leg, she just wouldn't release it which began to infuriate me as we struggled back and forth.

"Stop." She whispered, her movements halting and in the moment, the alarm in her features struck me, so I obeyed.

"Marshall, what's going...holy fuck!" Frankie's deep voice bellowed as he rushed out from around the house, his face turning pale white upon seeing me.

Mikayla completely let go of me, standing up as he rushed nearer, confusion pouring off of his expression.

"How is she-" He never finished that question because Mikayla had pulled out a handgun equipped with a silencer that must have been tucked in the back of her belt loop and shot him once in the head before he crashed to the ground, instantly killed. I swallowed as she stared at him, her features becoming gravely serious.

"I told you to go, why didn't you listen?"

"Why did you kill him?"

"Why the fuck do you think?" She asked coldly in a tone I never thought she could even produce. "Once he realized that you're alive, he'd know I lied and faked your death, then Giovanni would kill me too."

"I don't understand you." I muttered, getting up and retrieving my shotgun.

"What's to understand, you're screwing everything up."

"Finish it." I stated and she looked at me, anger dancing in her brown eyes.

"What?"

"Lift up your gun, and finish it. Waste me so I won't have to fuck up any more of your plans. If you don't, then don't expect me to stop because I won't. You think I'll feel bad because I'm messing things up for you? Guess what, Mikayla, my life got messed up! So do what you will, but don't think I'll care when you have to kill someone who's not me." Rubbing her temple, she tucked her gun into the back of her pants and nodded.

"Will you do me one favor? She requested.

"What's that?"

"Come with me to my place, let me explain everything to you, and after that, you can do what you want."

"No, you come with me, we'll go for drive and you can tell me at a public restaurant."

"What, you don't trust me?"

"Why should I?"

"Fine, get in your truck, drive up to the main road, turn right and keep going for about two miles. There's a diner there, only one in sight, I'll meet you after I take care of this mess." She offered, gesturing towards Francis.

"Don't take too long." I muttered, walking off.

Why'd she have to be here? Why'd she have to try and stop me? Why'd she have to ruin everything? It should have been over already.

Getting in my car, overly frustrated, I followed her directions and found the diner. I went inside and sat down in a small booth before a waitress greeted me.

"Hello, miss, how are you?" The enthusiastic woman asked politely.

"Um, I'm good, can I get a cup of coffee?"

"Milk and sugar?"

"Black is fine, two sugars."

"Alright, one moment." She smiled and walked off. My gut felt unsettled as I stayed here and everything told me to just get up and walk out, but instead, I went against my instincts and remained seated.

"Here you are, one black coffee." The waitress announced, placing the steaming cup down in front of me.

"Thanks." I replied and took a sip before glancing at the door. I caught on to a few things in that moment, one, my waitress was talking on the phone anxiously, two, my coffee tasted strange, and three, my vision was getting fuzzy.

"Shit." I whispered, realizing that Mikayla got to me despite my efforts and standing up, I staggered out the diner's entrance, hoping to at least hide myself, but that didn't happen because Mikayla was already here, walking up towards me as she tucked her cellphone in her right pocket, her mouth set in a thin line.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, gripping my forearms to help steady me. Being too weak, I couldn't bring myself to push her away.

"Fuck you." I sighed as everything faded.


	6. Release

**Water Drops of Red**

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**Heart** **Skillz**: That is a very good lesson to take away, lol.

**spezria26**: Hah, thank you so much. I'm happy to hear this is becoming one of your favorite stories, and I'll try to update faster to keep it that way ^.^

**Ameha** **Kay**: Thanks. I got your message by the way and I think that's wonderful. Congratulations L:

**Gunner3284**: I agree so very much. Having Miley just gun them all down to puddles of massacred flesh, blood, and bone would have been ridiculously satisfying. Lol, I like your question and maybe during the course of this story, it'll become clearer L:

**DoIHaveTo**: Lol, thank you for that review, it made me smile just cause. Enjoy this chappy [:

**localobalevya**: I'm glad to be back, thank you, lol, glad to hear this is awesome and badasses are always fun c:

**FallenSoldier15**: I'd give you permission to kill Giovanni, but I think Miley would be upset, lol. Damn, drugging your boss? I can't say I don't understand the feeling, lol. Thank you for the great review and enjoy ^.^

**magi97**: When I saw your review, I felt so so bad and started writing that same night. Sorry I took so long to get this done, but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for the reminder L:

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**A/N**: I can't even.

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**Chapter 6: **Release

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**Miley's POV**

"Listen, I said I'll be there." Snapped the distressed voice that came to be the first sound I heard upon surfacing from wherever it was that I had gone. "I'm at work; I can't do this any quicker! Just tell him I'm going as fast as I can."

I wanted to make a noise, say something, but before I could, I looked down to see that my hands were tied and resting at my midsection. I'd been laid back against a couch, my left leg propped up on the arm rest and my right one hanging down, foot against the floor. I went to lift it only to learn that it was secured to something, keeping me completely restrained.

"Let me say this slowly, I will be there when I can, till then, fuck off." Mikayla finished, slamming down her home phone. "Moron." She muttered, running a hand through her hair as she turned around, freezing when she noticed me staring at her. "Hah, morning." She greeted, sliding her right hand into her front pocket while the left stayed in her hair.

"It's morning?" I asked, glancing over at the window with wonder since it was clearly dark.

"Well, no, just…it's after eleven." She huffed out, peering at the window as well. "Feel alright?"

With a frown, I looked back at her and lifted my hands to answer the question.

"Right, well, now that you're awake, is there anything you'd like to eat or drink? I have to go out for about three hours so this would be the time to speak up." She explained, but I had stopped paying attention to her because of the gun sitting on her coffee table.

"Is that a Colt?" I questioned, admiring the sleek style and recalling an ex who had been extremely obsessed with guns. He'd always rant about how terrible Berretta's were and that Colts would always be top gun. He had his own all-black model that he'd never touched, but only stared at, while this one was black with dark brown grips and attached to it was a silencer that just made the weapon a thing of beauty.

Mikayla seemed a bit surprised as she looked over at her gun, but then with a slow nod, she replied.

"1911 Colt equipped with a suppressor, it's a government model; got it in the army as a gift. Um, I didn't peg you for a gun fanatic." She commented with a small smile.

"I'm not. Someone I knew was, but I can admit that it's pretty badass."

"Hah, yeah. I used to carry a Glock, that was good, and I tried out the Berretta, but the trigger just irritated me, then after getting this, no other gun ever felt right." She murmured the ending softly, crossing her arms. "Anyways, is there anything you need before I go?"

"Yeah, bathroom." I answered, my head pulsating with frustration. Silently, she walked over and began undoing my restraints with ease before standing back.

"Be quick, I'm late." She said as I sat up, massaging my aching wrists, then stood, glancing around.

"The bathroom is upstairs?" I asked, remembering it from the last time I was here in her place.

"There's one right there." She pointed to a door on my right and I turned, walking quickly into the bathroom, locking the door and letting out a deep breath.

I know I seem so put together, and maybe I am, but I'm still shaken and my insides are shattered, I know they are though I don't seem to feel it completely.

I didn't bother to look in the mirror, I can't handle the disappointment I'd face, so instead I turned on the water, warm water and just let it run over my hands, soothing the slightly reddened wrists.

She lied to me. She drugged me. She restrained me. She's the only one in my way.

Why am I not angry with her then? Is it because I understand her intentions? But how can I understand her motive when I don't even know what it is?

It's silly because it's like accepting iron shackles without protest and without reason. That's not me, and I need to breathe. Away from here. I don't even know what I want anymore, do I want to kill Cicero, do I have the will or has that been depleted?

How am I even alive? After everything, how can I live? It's not fair.

My sentiments are getting to me. I splashed some water on my face.

"I have to breathe." I whispered, determination entering my broken spirits. There was one window, but it was barred and useless. My resources were next to nothing, but staring at the running water struck me with an idea.

Picking up the medium sized garbage can, I took out the bag of trash, went to the tub, turning the water to the coldest setting. After letting the can fill, I turned off the water and lifted the container up, opening the bathroom door.

Mikayla was standing a few feet away and taking a step torwards her, I tossed the cold liquid all over her, making for a sharp gasp. As she struggled in surprise, I grabbed the Colt from her coffee table and escaped through the front door, rushing towards the gate.

Without wasting time, I hopped over it as best I could to keep from stopping, but my stunt didn't slow her for long because when I glanced back, she was rushing forward, dripping wet and leapt over the gate with ease before chasing me down the dark streets.

I don't think she bothered to protest and yell for me to stop because she's learned that I don't listen, but with persistent speed, she kept up, unwavering in her steps.

I took a right, scanning the surroundings for something to help me, but it was desolate and the trees were few while the air was empty.

My breath became ragged, and I smiled because I felt like I was breathing.

The oxygen was thinning, but I was relieved though my lungs burned for air because it felt nice to feel something like life coursing through me, searching and longing for continuance.

My heaving chest told me I was breathing, it told me to keep running, to stop thinking, to shut my mind and think of nothing but how much faster my legs could race and how sweet the cool winds were against my skin, flowing through my hair and cleansing the pain almost, even if just for a moment.

I wasn't running long when the streets decided to halt my freedom because I turned right into a dead-end. Panting, I stopped and my heart fell in my chest realizing the moment was gone and I looked back to see Mikayla turn into the street and stop when she saw me and the situation.

"Go away." I pleaded, lifting her Colt as a warning.

"Put it down." She scolded, heading towards me.

"Stop because this time I'll shoot." I told her, holding the gun tighter as my finger settled on the trigger. She didn't stop though, instead she moved in faster while I backed away and it was useless because eventually, the large wooden barrier behind me would leave nowhere to go.

"Miley, you can't shoot me." She stated and with the swiftest rush, she grabbed my gun-wielding hand with her right while her left gripped my waist, pulling me against her.

"I can, if I wanted to." I whispered, feeling weaker than when I had in the bathroom.

"You must not want to then because the safety is still on." She pointed out, taking the gun away from me and tucking it in the back of her belt. I stayed quiet, staring at her amused expression with building anger.

"Get away from me!" I snapped, pushing at her, but she didn't let go. She gripped my forearms tightly, and drew me closer.

"Tell me you don't want to kiss me, Miley." She dared and with all the logic in the world, I leaned in, kissing her quickly and it was painful to endure, but even more painful to break away.

"So what?" I challenged as if it meant nothing, but she knew better because her arms snaked around my waist, pulling me so close that she was nearly lifting me into her as she kissed back.

It was just as hard and now that my hands were free, they slid into her hair, tugging at it simply because I could.

"Stop." I begged against her mouth, but speaking only gave her a chance to sneak her tongue inside, making me groan and shudder.

When I began to relax against her, she broke the kiss, took my hand and led me up the street quickly.

To ask where we were going or why would be pointless since I knew and didn't even want to stop it because kissing her was better than running.

Soon enough, she had me back inside her house, locking the door as I walked further in and away from her, trying to gather my thoughts which were racing and overly logical considering the moment.

"You're not an anesthesiologist." I surmised suddenly. "You're not an executioner." Instincts were feeding my rationality more than knowledge. "Were you even military?"

Mikayla turned from the door to look at me, her features very neutral, but her eyes flashed with interest and a twitch in her lips told me she was humored.

"Scared that you might not actually know who you're attracted to?" She retaliated, removing and placing her pistol on the table before stopping in front of me, hands tucked into her pockets.

"You're playing Cicero, why?"

"Your theories are interesting, but what makes you think they're true."

"Because you've yet to deny them."

"Fine, denied."

"When you lie, your voice is steady; it tells me you've had a lot of practice."

"I work for the mafia, why wouldn't I?" My forehead furrowed and I recognized that she wasn't going to tell me anything, but I knew there was a lot to tell. "You're pretty creative." She murmured, looking down at her damp clothes.

"Mikayla, are we done talking yet?" I asked, reminded of why I let her bring me back and she could see my reasoning clearly.

"Yeah, we're done." She whispered and that was it. We both moved in, gripping each other, her hands on my waist, mine working on the buttons of her vest, forcing it off.

Just as her lips met mine, the piercing ring of her home phone interrupted, but she kissed me even harder as if it urged her on and stumbling backwards, she led me to the phone, pulling the jack out hastily before grinning against my mouth.

"You're gonna get me in trouble." She teased and I pulled her tucked shirt out, kissing down her neck as I pushed her to sit on the table, _accidentally_ knocking the phone off of it. She let out a sharp airy sound when I sucked at the exposed skin of her chest, working my way lower as the shirt finally came off, followed by her bra.

"Tell me to stop." I offered, grazing my teeth over a soft nipple, earning a gasp as I licked firmly, feeling the difference the moment it hardened.

"I can't." She admitted, gripping my face to stop me so her lips could taste mine again. I guess words didn't seem important anymore because neither of us could use them. All I could do was respond in breathy noises to how her tongue felt exploring my neck, and how her hands worked so swiftly, removing my shirt, then my jeans.

Shoes and clothes became strewn around us before she stood, pushing me towards her couch for some sort of anchor in the midst of everything. Being underneath her was probably the best place I've been. The way she stripped me down to nothing, then used her entire body to make me feel so many different sensations left me satiated yet wanting.

As her lips closed over my breast, sucking deeply, my head fell back, hips lifting into hers. I tried hard to stay aware of myself and undid the belt and zipper of her slacks despite the difficult position, but that was as far as I could get before she slid downwards, licking and arousing any flesh she touched.

A curse escaped and she glanced up for a moment, groaning when she met the lust-filled gaze, making her push my legs open to kiss the insides of my thighs.

I wasn't sure if I wanted her to hurry up or slow down, so I stayed quiet, watching and feeling as she followed her own rhythm, not influenced by my demands, though I nearly cried with need.

My whole body ached, it's a feeling that's enjoyable and impossible to handle because all I wanted was that release and having her between my legs was unbearable when she was taking so much time. My body spoke for me though, hips hinting while my abdomen contracted, making me pant and writhe in desire. Her gaze was hard and overwhelmed with the first touch of her tongue along my folds.

I tried to keep my hands at my sides, but they refused and chose to reside in her wet hair, pulling her closer and harder, my eyes rolling back with every bit of contact.

"Fuck."

The beautiful thing about a release is that it truly is a release. The definition of the word, the moment of orgasm, it's beyond accurate because for one instant, all the pain, all the anguish, the hatred, the vengeance, the depleted will, the notion of a daughter and of a sister had vanished as pure bliss took over.

I trembled, and shook, withered, and cursed, language lost, pleasure found.

Mikayla stood, pushing her pants down, leaving her in just a pair of tight black briefs. Though I watched her, I was lost in my own moment, still reeling from relief before reality came back.

Emotions were undeniable and tears slid down my cheeks, guilt passing through me at the thought of the last few weeks of my life.

Mikayla, seeing everything displayed before her slowed her actions as she leaned over my recovering form. Her lips were gentle against my tears and her arms were secure as she lifted me, carrying me upstairs.

I felt empty and cold, then altogether strange. My body shivered and shuddered with pain while I didn't understand why after something good, I felt wrecked.

"Shh." She murmured, laying me down.

"I can't-" I gasped, panicking, but her lips were on mine, relaxing me as though she herself were a natural anesthetic.

"You need this, let me." She offered, moving back down and I realized that a physical release was all I could count on right now.

"Hurry." I whispered, raising my head only to fall back as she followed through with a decided rhythm that promised for my mind to lose all concious thought.

I don't know what's happening to me anymore, and I don't care. I want a million little moments to forget everything and she's giving me that; this portal to forget, to shut down, to feel good and feel nothing.

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**A/N**: _Man, am I sorry for taking a month to update a story I enjoy writing so much. What can I say, my college/social/personal life is butt. Anyway, I'm making it my mission to update within a week so wish me luck. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I miss you all :] _


	7. Delight

**Water Drops of Red**

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**Spezria26**: Lmao, wow is right c:

**Gunner3284**: LOL, I love your enthusiasm and your approval of the way guns were portrayed in this story since you are a military guy L: Your review had me cracking up so hard in school, thanks for that and enjoy this chapter xD

**DemenaLuvr**: No apologies necessary, just glad that you're alive :p Wow, college, are you a freshman? And problems with the girlfriend? My motto is always get a single rose, call yourself a fool and apologize, then a month later, after everything is good, tell her it was all her fault o_O Lmao…maybe you shouldn't follow my lead. Thanks so much for the review and enjoy, lol.

**DoIHaveTo**: Aw, I appreciate the kiss over being hit ^.^ Alright…now I'm blushing, this must stop because I'm not amazing, you are, lol. My social life is really…difficult, lol, and usually tied up with my college life, it's a social college life…but lately it's less college, more social…this is confusing, yeah, okay, moving on. You're 18 now? xD Woot, you get to join the army, smoke, vote and shit, lmao. As for Mikayla, hah, no comment :p Thanks so much though and here's the update c:

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**Warning**: Detailed and violent scenes ahead.

Read with caution…unless you enjoy gore, then have fun ^.^

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**Chapter 7: **Delight

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**Miley's POV**

I stared at her, for hours. Just stared. The clock stuck 3:00 a.m. and I looked over at the window, feeling like centuries had passed, then glanced back as the numbers noiselessly changed to 3:07 a.m.

My lower body hummed as though it were non-existent and completely gone. My eyes drooped from being so exhausted but sleep just refused to come any closer. I'm not sure if it's a psychological issue, but unless Mikayla drugs me, I know that I won't be unconscious anytime soon.

Though we spent the last few hours completely intimate, I couldn't bring myself to touch her. She'd slipped into such a deep sleep afterwards, sprawled out on half of the mattress with just those black briefs still on and her hair messily scattered around. She did all the work, and asked for nothing in return.

Being on her stomach, her left leg slightly bent inward and her arms spreading out above her, it was peaceful to just observe and wonder where her mind had traveled to. Was she dreaming or completely out, as if room turned dark and thoughts just didn't bother to try.

That's what I want, for my thoughts to stop trying, for my head to stop thinking, and my eyes to stop searching. But search they did, fluttering across her lean body to the corners of the room, then the door, and finally, the window.

Overly restless, I gave in and forced myself out of the safety of her bed to leave the room, and walk downstairs where most of our clothes were. I pulled on my panties, then bra, but after gathering my jeans and shirt, I frowned, picking up hers as well.

I'm not sure why I did it, but I sat down, studying the brown vest and choice in shirt and slacks, then became spurred into wearing them, minus the slacks. As fitting as they were on her, I preferred jeans and boots coupled with her choice of upper and outer wear.

I slid her belt through the loops of my pants, fixed this collar, buttoned up the vest, and pulled on my own footwear before studying myself in a mirror nearby. Clothes tell so much about a person, and though it wasn't my normal style, it was so...weird.

Good, but weird. I didn't recognize myself completely and I liked that, but it was odd. I couldn't figure out just why yet and I pushed the thought away.

Just like she would, I tucked the Colt into the back of my jeans for safety since New York isn't exactly known for its security, then let the vest cover the firearm's protruding handle before scribbling a quick note for Mikayla in case she awoke.

"_Not running away, just needed fresh air. –M." _

Exiting her house, I walked down the steps slowly, welcoming the cool air of an early morning despite its night-like appearance. I smiled as I passed the gate when I realized that my father's truck was parked out front. Peering in through the window, I noted that her jacket was in the backseat and on the floor of the car was his shotgun.

Letting my fingers drag across the cool exterior of the vehicle, I walked on, leaving it all behind. Reading the road signs carefully, I found my way to Chambers street, and headed down the south side to find a subway station entrance. Not entirely sure what drove, me, I walked down the dirty, cracked steps and frowned with the blast of urine that assaulted my nostrils.

Damn, it smelled terrible down here. Coughing slightly, I wondered how people put up with this. The further I walked, the worse it seemed. A man sat at the bottom of the steps, asleep with an acoustic guitar in his arms. His clothes were tattered and his skin caked in dirt, saying he hadn't showered in a long while.

City of dreams, huh?

He wasn't the last; many men were asleep down here, on benches and even a few women, all homeless, having little empty cups for change, or some small instrument to provide entertainment in exchange for monetary pity. I grimaced, reaching into my jeans for some cash.

I had a good amount with me and dropped a decent bill for each one I passed, knowing I'd stop eventually since I wasn't exactly prepared to experience this amount of sympathy for strangers.

Finding myself at a tollbooth, I paused and read over the small menu of prices for metro cards, then extracted a five dollar bill, sliding in under the clear window for the employee who ran the little room.

"I need a four fifty." I informed him, but he frowned, gesturing to the small microphone I hadn't noticed. Leaning in, I spoke again. "Can I have a metro card for $4.50?" He nodded, taking the bill and slid fifty cents back along with a small packaged yellowish card. "Thanks." I muttered, collecting them before leaving.

I wasn't sure where I was going, but a train ride called out to me. I ripped the plastic open for the metro card and went over to the turnstile, swiping before green letters on the scanner said to go. Pushing through, I glanced around at the signs indicating that I had a choice between four different trains.

I chose the 6 train traveling downtown. More stairs led me further underground until I found my way to the dank platform. Pacing back and forth from pillar to pillar, I waited about eight minutes before the steel chain of connected cars came rushing through the station, screeching to a loud stop.

On the carriage I entered, only three people occupied it. All men, two homeless, one older and seeming guarded. He noticed me, frowning immediately as though he disapproved of my presence, most likely because I'm female and in a dangerous setting. I did feel out of place, especially in this particular wardrobe as I took a seat with a short railing at the end of it to brace against.

The conductor's voice rang through the speakers.

"_This is Chambers Street; transfer is available to the 4 train, the 5 train, and the Z train! Next stop, Canal Street! Please guard your belongings and watch the closing doors!"_ He warned before a small ding sounded and the doors all slid shut automatically.

Crossing my leg in a more masculine pose, I leant back and felt uneasy as one of the homeless men watched me faithfully. He was a middle aged white fellow and I connected eyes with him once, seeing no expression as he simply stared.

I refocused my gaze on an advertisement for Whiskey directly in front of me, reading the witty story-like poster before closing my eyes and letting my mind wander.

The mysterious goddess-like criminal sleeping in her bed, half-naked came to mind first. Guilt took over and my eyes squeezed shut. I laughed lightly to myself in a spiteful way.

Two months back, I would have freaked out just at the thought of sleeping with her. Funny how seeing the downsides of life gives one a new perspective, less caring, and more reckless in my case.

Being in the legal profession, I knew that I'd end up on the corrupt side eventually, behind bars. I did kill one man even though he was scum.

Mikayla's become a hindrance in my path, deterring me terribly, and I can't say I'm angry at her for it. It's simply that I don't know if I can continue, I feel so lost and I don't know if I'm thirsty for revenge anymore.

I think Satan himself sat next to me on this train ride, eavesdropping on my thoughts, and guiding me to an even darker fate, feeding off of me slowly.

"_This is Canal Street; transfer is available to the N, Q, R, Z, and 4 train! Watch the closing doors!"_ That voice announced and my eyes opened in time to see the older gentleman exit the train and then a woman entered at the far end.

Just as the doors began to close, a short, athletic man slid in swiftly, and I froze, everything from my eyes blinking to my lungs breathing just halting.

That trademark black leather jacket, rugged jeans, neat and shiny dress shoes, a single golden chain, linked white-gold bracelet, and bulky rings.

Matthew Serafino Ignazio.

When I was on my hunt for Samuel, I came across this sick fuck. To everyone on the streets, he was known as Doctor Matty. He went to medical school for about a month, gave up, became a disappointment to his family, then took to the mob, doing their dirty work with a disgustingly revolting method.

Let's put it this way, Dr. Matty liked to be precise with his incisions, and his choice of weapon was none other than a scalpel. It shouldn't be surprising that he's riding a train at three something in the morning. It was the easiest way to travel or escape after an _assignment_.

He was there in the room when Cicero beat the crap out of me, and I felt sickened seeing him, but what freaked me out even more was thinking back to my father's body, the slices in his wrists that were done simply to have him bleed out.

Why hadn't I thought about it earlier? Maybe because I wasn't thinking about anyone other than Giovanni himself.

But what the fuck kind of coincidence is this? He was clearly unaware of my presence, flirting with the woman; she seemed a bit older, her Spanish skin light while her lips smiled at him, encouraging the conversation.

Standing, hatred filled my insides completely with a deep scowl to match. My body became inhabited with rage, all uncertainty completely gone as I pulled the gun out from behind and moved towards the pair.

There was no choice, I disengaged the safety and pulled back the slide loudly, making the girl look over his shoulder first, eyes widening, legs forcing her back in absolute terror from the onslaught I was beginning.

With quick reflexes, the man in question turned around to see me, pulling out a revolver in the process.

Nope, not today, I thought, pulling the trigger, allowing for a close range bullet to pierce through his wrist, ripping a scream from his throat as the weapon fell to the ground.

"Fuck! You – No-!" He started and stopped, his face turning white, then purple as he recognized me.

"I climbed out of my grave for this." I snarled, backing him up to the end of the train, pressing the tip of the Colt into his temple. The Latina was a mess of tears, falling to the floor, then scrambling to get away, begging to live as she did so.

Matthew was panting and gasping, shuddering, his eyes closing and opening, the beginning of confusion, pleading, terror, and hysteria flooding through him.

"You're dead! You're dead!" He yelled as if trying to reason it out, then shook his head. "You're dead! This isn't real!" He tried and getting sick of the shouting, I slid the pistol down, releasing a second bullet into his shoulder, earning a wail of pain to echo through the enclosed space.

"Was that real enough?" I questioned as he collapsed to the floor, me bending with him, positioning the gun to his other shoulder now. He was crying, uttering for me to have mercy as he nursed his right arm and wrist.

"Who did it?" I needed to know. "It wasn't you alone, was it? It takes more than one sick bastard to kill a man the way I found my father!"

"No, it was me, just me!" Covering for your brothers? No.

"I want names or I'll kill every member of your family, women and children." I threatened seriously.

Annoying screams were penetrating the air now and I looked back to see the girl accusing me of being a psychotic freak. The two homeless men were watching with attentiveness, fear in their countenance, but said nothing as the girl screamed for them to do something, to stop me as though they could.

Turning to Matty, my eyes narrowed to see he managed to retrieve his infamous scalpel using his good hand, then slammed it forward – I dodged in time, stumbling onto my back, but he advanced, a defiant growl slipping from his mouth as he got above me, slashing my arm before I grunted and let my knee swing into his gut.

Rolling off, he kept his wounded side guarded, lunging for me once again, but I grabbed his left wrist, forcefully guiding the blade away from its direction to my throat and into the floor, while wrapping two legs around one of his for stability, bringing my right hand forward, allowing for another bullet to enter his lower torso in the exchange.

Slumping over, I snatched his scalpel, bringing it to his throat while shoving the end of the silenced gun deep into his mouth, appreciating how his eyes grew bigger in fear as the blade pressed deeper into his neck as a warning.

"Talk or die hours before your family." I offered and he nodded as a sign of compliance, but my attention was taken up by the raving girl who was truly irritating me.

"What's wrong with you! Are you fucking crazy! The police will get you as you as you leave this train, please, just stop, let him go!"

Glaring at her, I looked between the two homeless men.

"Hold her down, cover her mouth and there's a hundred bucks in it for each of you."

"What! No!" She protested and without so much as a little consideration, both guys jumped into action, detaining her.

I returned my gaze to Matty, slowly pulling the gun back so he could speak. His eyes ran up and down my front as concern entered him, breath catching.

"You – you're wearing Marshall's clothes!" He accused. "You killed her?" He asked frantically and I nearly laughed at his conclusion, sarcasm flooding my tone as I responded.

"Yes, because that's what I do. Kill young females and wear their clothes to satisfy my perverse urges." I actually smiled and his chest heaved.

"She's good people though." He exhaled shakily and nodded as though finally giving in. "Leave my family alone, I'll tell you. Giovanni sent me and Johnny to kill your ol' man." To actually hear it burned.

"Why? What did my father do to deserve such a bloody death?" I demanded, pain entering for just a moment, but leaving as he replied.

"That's on you. You told Giovanni that you followed the trail of your brother's death. So, he wanted to make sure no one was left to extract revenge if a trail was still there. Family is serious and he wanted your father dead to ensure that no more death touched us."

It made sense. It was my fault.

"Death isn't going to just touch your family, it's going to devour them." I whispered, realizing why I felt so weird earlier by Mikayla's apparel.

It's because of how different it is. Professional and detached, like her gun with its suppressor so every kill she made was silent and impersonal. She would not feel it, because she didn't need to. It was cold in its own way, but not spurred by hatred or need.

I on the other hand needed to feel this moment. The train began slowing at its next stop and I undid the silencer from the Colt, Mathew's mouth falling slack.

"Please, I told you-"

"What's Johnny's full name? I interjected, my voice steely now.

"De – DeFeo." He stuttered the last name and I smiled, glancing at his watch.

"Thank you Dr. Matty. Time of death: 3:49 a.m." I announced and his eyes closed, awaiting his fate. When nothing happened, he slowly reopened them, and that's when I gripped his chest, feeling the pounding heart as I unloaded a first bullet into his gut, relishing in the deafening shot that caused his entire being to vibrate from the force, then a second a little higher, the last entering above that one.

He shook with each, but the blood wasn't enough and so I slit his throat, leaving the scalpel lodged in between the open flesh while blood gushed out and his heartbeat stopped along with the train, a delightful sensation filling me.

I reached into his jacket, finding a cellphone, and pocketed it before standing.

I took out a couple bills, more than offered at that, then dropped them on a seat nearby as promised, glancing at my unfortunate audience.

"Hey girl, report this if you'd like, but that means you'll see me again. Think about it." I advised.

"_This is Bowery and Delancey Street, transfers to the Z train! Watch the closing doors!"_ The voice said and I exited, reattaching the suppressor to its Colt before sliding it into concealment once more, utterly relaxed despite the blood staining my hands and clothes.

I couldn't even feel the bleeding wound I received during the whole altercation.

I suppose I was lucky, finding a bathroom in the upper level of the station to wash my hands clean before taking the short ride on the Uptown 6 train back to Chambers street.

I had a few stares here and there because my clothes had blood, but it could have been something else, a reddish brown stain of some sort. If I did in fact get arrested, I wouldn't mind with how wonderful I felt.

That was until I reached into my pocket and realized that I still had Johnny to deal with. Scrolling through the contacts on the dead _doctor's_ phone, I found my target and sighed.

I needed to freshen up first, so I went back to Mikayla's place, ringing her bell once.

Almost instantly, the door opened and I met a scrutinizing gaze that looked deadly.

"Colt." She demanded, but she couldn't ruin this for me. With a lazy smile, I handed it over and walked in past her, taking a seat on the couch.

"Sorry, I ruined your shirt." I exhaled, tucking my hands behind my neck. I watched her in just her underwear with a white tank top, the colors contrasting perfectly against her smooth tan skin as she pressed the magazine release on the gun, her jaw hardening as she looked over to me.

"Six bullets. Gone." She informed me. "Who?"

"He's a doctor, I believe." I answered and she knew immediately who it was before she set her gun on a table, rubbing her forehead firmly.

"Fuck! Fuck, really Miley? I sleep for two hours and you manage that…" She trailed off before her eyes focused on my arm. "You got hurt?" She asked, coming over to see my arm.

"It feels nice." I smiled, and her gaze softened.

"It must have." She sighed as she walked off, returning with gauze, a threaded needle, two bottles and a washcloth.

"It's not deep, just a few stitches." She said and leaning forward, I took off the vest, then her shirt.

"I feel like such a criminal." I chuckled and her eyebrows raised.

"For killing him?"

"No, for wearing your clothes." I admitted earnestly and she stared at me before breaking out into laughter.

"Seriously, that's what you're guilty about?" As she worked on my arm, the laughter kept steady, bringing a certain grace to her, one that was attractive and seemed rare.

The moment she finished wrapping my arm, I caught hold of her arm, making her focus on me as I turned serious.

"Thank you. I don't know why you help me, I'm won't even ask, but thank you."

She didn't reply, instead standing to go, but I didn't free her arm. I stood, pulling this girl close to me for a moment. It was amusing how reluctant she seemed all of a sudden.

"I'm not even gay." I joked, lightening the mood further.

"When you lie, your left eye twitches." She retorted, leaning in to meet me for a kiss.

"Mm, well, I guess I should practice till I'm as good as you then."

"Good idea." She agreed, her hand resting on my hip lightly before I pulled back.

"I don't want to have sex with you again."

"Twitched." She smirked as my hand worked its way up her side, urging her closer.

"I don't think you're sexy."

"Twitched."

"I don't want to see what's underneath those tight little briefs." The right side of her mouth curved down.

"Your eye didn't…" The sentence hung in the air as I grinned.

"Guess I learn fast." And the smugness returned.

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**A/N**: _Um, so, I'm really sick, can barely talk and didn't go to class today, therefore I got to write c: I shall stay home again tomorrow so maybe I'll get to update quickly. Reviews for me? :3_


	8. Alone

**Water Drops of Red**

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**DoIHaveTo**: Oh gross, lmao. You had to say you were legal for that last thing, didn't you? Lmao. Hey, you want me sick so I can update fast? That is selfish, but it's okay, I understand why L: Ugh, gore just pisses me off, lol. I can't explain it…I hate to see it, read it, think it, but I guess I'm trying to leave my comfort zone when it comes to writing. LOL, perverted mini fetish? You're making me laugh, and no more blushing, hah. Thanks a bunch and enjoy the updates.

**Spezria26**: Aw, I'm sorry to see how uncomfortable the whole scalpel ordeal made you, it was pretty messed up. Murder just sucks, and revenge isn't pretty. I think it's nice to have a reviewer who isn't totally supportive of the character, it tells me a lot and feels fresh so thanks for that L:

**Smile Riley**: Lol, the line you picked out made me laugh too, thanks for noticing and enjoy these updates.

**Mythical Mania**: Thank you for that honest review, I didn't expect anyone to be okay with the murder but I'm glad I was able to affect you, even in a negative sense. I appreciate the compliments and enjoy!

**Gunner3284**: Lol, thank you very much. As for the noise, I know the Colt is loud as hell, but you have to consider the timing and how fast the situation is occurring. Whether the conductor heard the gunshot or not hasn't affected Miley who's telling the story. Even if a conductor did hear it though, they would have to stop the train, investigate the noise, then report, and by that time, Miley's gone. As for Mikayla's guns, she did mention the Colt was gift, but I'm sure she's got some wonderful firearms at her disposal, all things considered – and I must say, your knowledge of guns is pretty awesome, thank you for sharing and thanks for the feedback ^.^

**Luz4mj1995**: Your little review there made me smile, gratzi and no worries [:

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**Chapter 8: **Alone

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**Miley's POV**

"Miley, god, no." Came Mikayla's agitated voice.

"Mm?" I grunted in the form of a question, still half asleep in her bed.

"I just got off the phone with one of my contacts, what the hell did you do?!" She exclaimed, and a moment later, I could hear her footsteps moving further away as she ran downstairs. Sitting up, I looked around, then stood, pulling on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt so I could follow her to see what happened.

Her TV was blasting and she stood so close to it, I thought she might just step inside. Frowning as I noticed how tense she appeared, I moved to see the screen better, my attention immediately focusing.

"_It's a gloomy day for commuters here in New York, just wanting to travel to work or school, but instead, came face to face with the slaughtered corpse of a male whose identity will not be revealed since his family has yet to be contacted. Many citizens have been affected by the bloody sight which can be described by this young girl who stepped on the 6 train at 5:17 a.m. only to rush right off." _Announced the newscaster before the camera zoomed out to show a thin white woman who seemed to be in her late twenties. _"Can you share what you've seen, miss?"_ He asked and shakily, she nodded as he held the microphone under her chin.

"_I- I always get on the 6-line around this time to go to work. The worst thing I've ever seen used to be homeless men sitting in the corner with their shoes off to let their rotting feet relax, but what I saw today…I had to call in sick, I still want to vomit, I just – whoever did this is sick. Just sick and they need to be caught, that man on the train, I've never seen anything like it." _

"_Would you be able to go into further detail, on what you saw exactly?"_ The reporter probed and she shook her head in despair as she answered.

"_He was Italian, that I could tell by his clothes and his features which I was unfortunately close enough to see. Um, there were so many bullet wounds, I didn't count them , but the worst part was his neck…it looked like a knife-"_ She shuddered visibly, her hand moving to her own neck. _"The killer left it, like, like I can't even tell you why – but I think it was a very personal statement to leave a blade in someone's throat. It was just too much, I'm sorry."_ The girl croaked lowly, walking off with her face covered.

"_Thank you so much for the short but revealing interview."_ The man called after her before turning back to the camera. _"It appears we have a malicious murderer in our city who is still on the loose. An initial statement from our lead detective on the case was simply this - There is video footage of our killer leaving the Chamber's Street station, we couldn't see their face, and even worse, we could not identify gender. We have prints on the murder weapon and the forensics team is on their way to cracking this one. Our suspect may be meticulous and deadly, but it was sloppy and they will be brought in shortly – New Yorkers, rest assured, this deviant will be stopped and the streets will be safe once more. This is Bill Randall, reporting live from Manhattan, back to you in the studio, Lisa." _He finished.

"Deviant, really?" I asked with a scowl, but Mikayla clicked off the TV and dropped the remote on her couch, turning to me.

"They traced your prints right back to California. The Malibu PD had your file from Jackson's deaths so they know who you are, Miley. They also scanned you for facial recognition across the city and have you down for grand theft auto, two cars to be exact. They've investigated your house, then your father's, they know he's dead as blood was all over his place and plan to pin it on you since they haven't a body to prove otherwise. Best of all, they ran the plates on your dad's truck, leading them right here." She disclosed, her hands shoving forcefully into her pockets as I thought over what she said.

Well, they work faster than I would have imagined.

"Where are the keys to my dad's Chevy?" I asked hoarsely, understanding that my actions did indeed have hefty consequences.

"Why do you want them?"

"Like you said, they have my license plate number, they'll find me soon and I'm sure it'll be best if you're left out of it. You did try to stop me and even though you're a criminal, I don't plan on bringing you down because of me, so, the keys?" I requested softly.

"Miley, I changed the plates and removed the GPS tracker on the truck. They won't find you here. This is now…the safest place for you." I lifted my brows at that and shook my head in the negative.

"But not for you. I get caught; they're bound to take you in as well."

"I wouldn't worry about me. I can take care of myself. You on the other hand…" She sighed, running a hand through her mass of messy hair and I smiled.

"Mikayla, you worry too much. Don't you think I know I'm going to jail? I'm a legal counselor for god's sake, but…well, I have nothing now, nothing to hold me back or keep me from finishing this."

"You'll get the death penalty if you do anymore. Please, let me intervene, let me change their course, let me help and-"

"Stop it, Mikayla. You can't help me. Accept it." I whispered, walking back up to her room to get my things.

Last night, I brought my duffle bag in and this morning, I was packing it up. I actually felt wrong about this, about her, about staying, and letting myself break.

Then the murder last night...

_Was it worth it? _

The answer is a resounding yes as much as I wish it wasn't, because if it wasn't, I could let her help me, let her do that thing she did where she made everything so simple, but I didn't want simple, I wanted real. I wanted blood; I wanted it staining my hands. I wanted everyone's stomachs to twist and turn when they saw me because they knew what I was capable of doing; the heinous murders I could carry out for my family. That's all that mattered, not my freedom, or my sanity, just family.

Justice.

My kind of Justice, not anyone else's.

Changing into a pair of black jeans, I pulled on a hunter green cotton tank, then a gray jean jacket over it. Slinging the duffle bag over my shoulder, I headed downstairs where Mikayla sat quietly as if contemplating.

I gave her a gentle smile, but that only had her on her feet, rushing over, attempting to take my bag away, trying to talk sense into me, and the smile never left my lips.

"Thank you."

"For what, letting you walk right into more danger, Miley, I don't want to have to use force-"

"For caring so damn much." I sighed, sliding my hand into her hair. She was already dressed, more casual than usual, with a tight pair of jeans, a white plaid shirt half tucked in, half out in her distressed state and those adorable green amphibian slippers covering sock clad feet.

There's so much I'd like to learn about her, like who the hell gave her those god-forsaken slippers, and why she always knew so much, or what made her touch feel like it was the most natural thing on earth.

"Kiss me goodbye." I whispered and she exhaled, like she couldn't believe I was leaving.

"Miley, why-" Instead of listening, I leaned in, pressing my lips to hers and she gave in, slowly accepting me. Her right hand pushed my bag off my shoulder so she could hold me closer in a warm embrace before I pulled away.

"Don't follow me, Mikayla." I requested, brushing her hair back. "Don't try to stop me, don't help me, don't do anything that includes me. I'm walking bait." She didn't say a word, just brushed her lips against mine once more.

"Cicero doesn't know it's you yet. When he does, he'll want my head on a plate. We're connected, Miley. Like it or not."

"You can take care of yourself." I reminded as I stepped away from her, retrieving my bag.

"The mantel." She muttered, crossing her arms and sure enough, my keys were there. "My jacket is still in your truck, keep it for me, I'll want it back." She requested as I got to the door and opened it, looking back for a moment almost missing her promise in the air.

"It's yours, you'll have it." I assured, uncertain if she was using her jacket in a more figurative sense to indicate that she wanted…well, me.

It irked me, I won't lie. Maybe it even scared me when I walked out and sat down in my truck, staring in the rear-view mirror at the piece of clothing.

Hope. That's what it is to her. The one thing I have no more of, she's holding onto it so long as I have this.

Hope, it's just an idea, a philosophy we make use of that doesn't truly exist, but we need it to get through the harsh reality. I had to face that and now so does she. Grabbing the jacket, I got back out of my car and went up to her gate, my eyes finding hers watching me from the window.

I could make out every feature, from the unease to the tense and nearly stoic expression. She shook her head slowly, telling me not to, but I removed the few shells I had left in the pocket, and stuffed them into this jacket I now wore before hanging hers on the gate with no sorrow to offer.

Then I drove off, leaving the one good memory behind.

I suppose the NYPD had my picture by now according to what Mikayla revealed, so I made sure to stay low-key as I parked in the lot of a motel.

Instead of going in, I reached back for the black shotgun, feeling safer to have it near me while I fished through my duffle bag for the two items I needed.

Mathew Ignazio's cell phone and battery. I had to separate them to avoid being traced, and now I was doing something beyond risky by sliding the battery into it and re-attaching the back. I turned on the device, waiting patiently. Once started, I scrolled through his contacts for a second time, running through the long list of Johnny's till I found DeFeo.

Taking in a calming breath, I pressed dial, and brought the phone to my ear. Four rings only to be answered in fury.

"You have some nerve calling me!" The voice spat. "You killed Matty and dare to contact me? Once I find you, and I will find you, you are dead." He vowed heatedly, his voice ridden with anger, making his accent sound thick and heavy.

"I hope you do find me. Just like you found someone I love, took out your gun, and killed them. No mercy. Difference is, I have a gun too, Johnny. I have hate too. And best of all, I'm right behind you." I could hear the panicked shuffling, ragged breaths and clattering of sounds, making me chuckle as he reacted.

"Good, you're scared. Next time, it won't be a joke." I promised, hanging up without a chance for him to respond.

Just as I started my car to leave, knowing this call would easily be tracked, a fairly athletic teenage boy ran out of the motel, followed by a girl. Hm, wonder what they were doing in a motel.

"Hey, kid!" I called out, and he looked over at me, smiling.

"Yeah?" Tossing the phone at him, I shrugged.

"Want that?" It was a blackberry, not as fancy as the beloved iPhone, but still valuable and his eyes brightened.

"Woah, seriously?" He asked, clearly stunned while his girlfriend stared at me confused, understandable suspicion in her gaze.

"Mhm." I nodded, then shifted the gear into reverse to pull out of the space.

"Thanks, uh – awesome stranger!" He yelled as I left, knowing he'd regret accepting it once he was detained and put through a rigorous interrogation.

At least that gives the cops someone to chase which buys me a little time.

When in search of Jackson's killer, Sam, I had help and now, more than ever, I needed to call in a few favors. Opening my dad's glove compartment, I smiled fondly seeing Jackson's old pre-paid cell phone.

Jackson always lost his cell, especially when he was borrowing our dad's car. It was almost ridiculous, but for safety's sake, my dad bought the phone and placed it here so he could easily get to one of us if necessary. It was rarely used and that's a good thing for my current situation.

Sending a text first to the number, I then dialed the one person who I could count on for information.

"Lillian Truscott speaking." She always sounds so professional these days and I smiled a little.

"Girl charged with two counts of homicide, grand theft, and possibly more to come speaking." I replied only hear a loud squeal on the other side.

"Miley! Oh my god, shit, hold on – let me go somewhere more private." She said and after a few moments passed, her voice came through again. "Gosh, I thought I'd never hear from you again after the last time we spoke."

"Honestly, I should be dead, guess I just got lucky."

"It feels so good to hear your voice again, Miley, I miss you."

"I miss everything." I admitted and frowned as I drove down a long avenue, pulling into a parking space at the roadside so I could concentrate.

"I know you killed Samuel, it was all over the news, and now the District Attorney has your identity, he's having you traced, you need to throw that phone out." She advised.

Lilly worked as an assistant attorney in the Los Angeles jurisdiction, but on my account, she had herself transferred to Malibu so she could do me this favor and keep tabs on the police department as well as have access to the files of the D.A.

"I tossed that phone already, this is pre-paid, and I sent you a text from it. I need you to trace that phone number a-sap, and find out as much as you can on a guy named Johnny DeFeo."

"They think you killed your father, what really happened?" She asked, knowing better. "Did Ignazio have something to do with it?"

"Goddamn, you all work fast." I commented since she already knew nearly every move I've made.

"Well, you know how serious homicide is taken, the lead detective, he's staying up nights to catch you, he's driven, Miles, be careful."

"How up to date is the NYPD?"

"Not very, they just ran a BOLO (Be on the lookout) for your dad's truck. They're a bit disoriented from the severity of what you did to the guy on that train; turns out they're even hesitant in catching you because they've been searching for Ignazio for over two years on twenty-eight counts of manslaughter. A hunch tells them you'll hit again, then they'll get you, Mile. That's the plan."

"Who do they think I'm going after?"

"His family, they assume it's personal like that."

"Well, it is personal, but no, I want DeFeo."

"Why?"

"Him and Ignazio murdered my dad."

"God, I saw the evidence portfolio, blood stains were detected all over the house." She sighed. Back in high school, her and I were so close, and my dad was practically her own. It's been years since we've really communicated, but once she learned that my brother was murdered, Lilly was more than willing to use her position to help me catch that bastard. She wanted to join me here, help me with the dirty work, but I needed someone I could trust on the inside.

"I saw the real thing." I muttered in disgust. "It was…worse than digging up Jackson's coffin, worse than everything I've ever experienced, I wish I'd been smarter. If I didn't get caught after killing Sam, I would have kept my dad safe, Lilly, but I wanted to make a statement, I enjoyed looking into Cicero's eyes and telling him why I did it, and that's why my father paid for my mistake, my selfish pride." The sorrow leaked out and Lilly tried processing my words, her voice choked as she replied.

"Miley, no. You couldn't have known."

"I didn't think." I corrected.

"Neither of us did. Please, don't beat yourself up."

"I have to, I have to accept it, live with it, fight with it, regret it, then die with it."

"Are you really going to give yourself up after Cicero?" I smiled because she understood that I was, at whatever cost, going to murder Giovanni for what he's done.

"Yes."

"Not even gonna try to run?"

"No. I know what I'm doing, I'll face the jury, tell them I'm sane of mind, and that I'd do it again. Then, they can lock me away for life or give me death, I've accepted my fate."

"I wish I were as strong as you."

"You're stronger, Lilly, you're the one taking my secrets to the grave."

"And you'll take mine." It was a long-known agreement and silence followed.

"I'll run DeFeo's name and call you soon." She promised.

"Thank you, Lilly."

"No, thank you, Miley. For staying out there alone, despite how difficult it is. And for putting your life on the line for them even when they're gone." I nodded to myself and hung up, staring out at the passing cars.

"It is difficult." I whispered. "But only because I'm not alone." I muttered sullenly as brown eyes came to mind.


	9. Friendship

**Water Drops of Red**

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**A/N: **I guess you can call this a bonus update since I've taken so long :]

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**Chapter 9: **Friendship

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**Miley's POV**

About three police cars had passed me and at this point, I was wondering what I would actually do if one of them noticed me and came over.

Would I comply? Nope.

Car chase? Hell no, that's like…the worst. They'll call an overload of back up and every road would be blocked; I would hate being caught that easy.

Hm. Pretend to comply and then beat their faces in before back-up can be contacted? Sounds good to me. _Buzz!_

Dragging me away from my train of thought, I looked down at the vibrating phone in my hand to see Lilly's number flashing across the screen.

"Hey."

"I cannot believe I don't already have a file out on this DeFeo dude. He's the biggest drug dealer in that mob, he's the reason they're still making money, and he's wanted for manslaughter, grand theft, numerous counts of rape, robbery, arson, you name it, this guy's probably done it." She informed me, her inner sense of goodness already hating this man with a passion.

"Back story?" I asked.

"Yeah, born and raised in Florence, Italy, was a stowaway on an exports ship and after a long stretch of travelling, he entered the U.S. illegally. He did a few odd jobs here and there, real work though, truck driver, factory worker, things like that. He eventually got citizenship, but was low on money and borrowed from Cicero. When he couldn't pay back, Cicero gave him two choices, deliver a shipment of drugs or swallow a bullet. Guess what he chose?"

"Mm, so it was necessity that got him into it?"

"At first, yeah, then it became greed. He kept going back to Cicero, became the best after years of loyalty and earned his place as family."

"Married, kids?"

"No, but he's got quite the track record with the ladies. Several women have accused him of sexual assault, he's suspected in over a dozen murder cases of overdosed and/or raped prostitutes. Real asshole, this one is."

"So, no real family, just the business?"

"Pretty much, but I did check some classified files down at the PD, Miley. There's a drug squad working his case over there, they've been tracking him for the past two years, sending in undercover officers and such to infiltrate – I have a location for you, but it's dangerous."

"Tell me."

"Well, you already know that Mr. Cicero owns a quaint little restaurant on Mulberry Street."

"Yeah." I answered. "It's where I killed his son, he lives close to the place, was about a five minute drive when they caught me, then proceeded to beat the shit outta me."

"Ugh, don't tell me the details or I'll stop helping." She groaned.

"Sorry, forgot, go on with the restaurant."

"Alright, the drug squad in New York has Cicero down for a meeting in that restaurant tomorrow night, there he'll discuss prices and such over cannoli's and wine most likely. Once an agreement is made, the actual deal will take place in a warehouse a few streets over, Canal Street, the West Avenue. I'll text you the exact address. Now listen, there will be a truck. That's where the stash is, once the deal is done, that truck disappears till another deal is made. It's heavily guarded, so avoid that area completely."

"I hear it in your voice, Lils, get to the good part." I urged.

"Good part, hah, correction, worst part. A whole drug unit will be there, Mile. They want DeFeo in cuffs, desperately. Plus, be careful of DeFeo's men. Half of them are badges." By badges, she meant cops, so I frowned, thinking this over.

"No other way to get to him?"

"Sure there is, but then that would be after the drug bust, and if it's a success, well…I really can't see you sneaking into a prison to kill the man." She was right, the chances were high that he would get arrested tomorrow and I don't know how well the unit would carry through, but I couldn't take my chances.

"Why did they have to do this now?" I complained, making Lilly laugh.

"Timing is a funny thing. Especially in your case, by the way, how did you find Mathew?"

"I had given up…don't even understand it myself. He just got on the same train as me. Purely coincidental. I guess something out there wanted me to remember what I'm here to do. It's odd, isn't it?"

"Divine intervention?" She asked uncertainly.

"Don't know. Can't say. Divine or the opposite, same thing, isn't it?"

"Miley." She warned and so I relented.

"Fine, sorry. Can you text me a picture of DeFeo."

"Yeah, sure. I'll send you a few." I hesitated for a bit with what I wanted to get off my chest and Lilly was patient, knowing I needed to say something since I hadn't hung up.

"I think I'm gay." Instantly, she snorted, and broke out into laughter.

"Just because you're on a man-hating rage does not mean you're gay, Miley!"

"What, hey! I am not on a man-hating rage! Some men are alright still, I've met a few, but…"

"But what, did you like…check out a girl?" She asked in a near whisper like it was impossible to even imagine.

"Well, I did more than check her out."

"Miley! Oh my god. Holy shit…that's, just – wow." She finished lamely, then laughed. "Good for you. Is she hot?"

"Italian goddess."

"Miley, oh no-" Lilly begged.

"Oh yeah…" I trailed off, letting the realization sink into her.

"You're sleeping with a mafia girl, what the fuck? You know better!"

"She was ordered to kill me, she chose not to for whatever reason. She's saved me a few times, Lilly, she might be part of that business, but she's definitely not a normal one. She's…good." I sighed. "But I left her this morning and won't see her again, there's no use."

"You sound so…um-"

"So what?"

"Sad." Lilly murmured.

"I've buried my only important family members within the same month, Lilly, I think I'm entitled to being sad."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"And you know that I cannot afford to understand what you mean."

"I get it. Anyways, what's her name, I'll run her through the database."

"No, I want one thing to stay private, let's just…leave her out of it."

"Are you sure, Miley?"

"Positive."

"Alright, go eat something please. You'll need energy for tomorrow."

"Shit, I forgot about food." I realized as a world of hurt assaulted my stomach with awareness. "I'll find something."

"Good, we'll talk soon. Tomorrow isn't it, don't get lost, don't fail, and hold the bigger picture in your mind as you move forward."

"Giovanni is endgame, then you're my lawyer, right?" I teased and I could feel her smiling through the phone.

"Hey, Miss Barrister, you don't need a lawyer, but all things considered, yes, I will be there."

After a few jokes, then a quick goodbye, I headed off to a drive-through, ordering more food than I needed. Burger, nuggets, fries, soda, apple pie. Hey, I could die in the crossfires of tomorrow, might as well enjoy the last few meals I have.

After my dinner, being parked in a dead end street, I cranked up the radio, singing along to a song as I messed around with the Mossberg shotgun, learning how the piece worked in more depth.

My foot was tapping to the beat and I laughed aloud breathlessly, mouthing the words, becoming relaxed.

_Well, you told me about nowhere, well it sounds like someplace I'd like to go._

_We talked about nothing, which was more than I wanted you to know! _

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Now, here we go!_

Lyrics that actually had nothing to offer me suddenly opened itself up to whatever I wanted them to mean. I suppose that's the beauty of music, it can serve whatever purpose you need when you close your eyes and let it.

_I was patiently erasing and recording the wrong episodes, _

_after you had proved my point wrong, it wasn't like I'd let it go. _

_Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, I just wanted to catch the last laugh of this show!_

Inhaling, I finished loading the gun with eight shells.

_Well, we schemed and we scheme, but we always blow it. _

_We've yet to crash, but we still might as well tow it. _

_Standing at a light switch to each east and west horizon. _

_Every dawn when you're surprising, in the evening, one's consoling, saying 'See, it wasn't quite as, bad as!' _

_Oh, it would've been, could've been worse than you would ever know!_

Could it really be worse?

As midnight rolled around, I checked the prepaid phone for Lilly's text of the address. It wouldn't be too far from here and so I pulled into a nearby gas station, took my duffle bag and headed inside to use the bathroom.

After washing my hands and face, I decided I had to change for what was planned so shrugging off my gray jacket and top, I switched into a sweater with a jet-black overcoat to match.

Tonight would be a cold one.

I opted my boots for black trainers, then pulled a beanie over my loose hair to keep it in place. Finding the silver switchblade, I slid it into my back pocket and took a quick look in the mirror. Grabbing my things, I walked out, bought twenty bucks worth of gas, filled up the tank and drove off. As I drove towards the warehouse, my phone lit up and vibrated.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"Where are you?"

"Heading to the address right now."

"Good, it's barely guarded at these hours. I called to confirm the times. 6 p.m., the initial meeting takes place in Cicero's restaurant. 6:15, truck should arrive. Remember, Miley-"

"Avoid the truck, got it, go on."

"7 p.m., they meet in the warehouse. Drug units will arrive promptly at seven o' five to surround the place, along with back up. They will ambush, I assume during that time you'll go after DeFeo, get him, get done, and-"

"Get out, I know."

"No, Miley, don't even try to run when so many badges are present, there is no way you'll escape." Fuck.

"Shit…what then? I still-"

"My turn to cut you off, you need Giovanni dead, and well, by getting caught, you accomplish nothing."

"I take it you have a suggestion." I drawled, not liking where this was heading.

"I say use your own judgment, Miley, but my best bet is two things. One: knock out a badge, take their uniform and slink away, or two: if the situation calls for it – take one of them hostage and escape."

"No, I won't do hostages, too dicey. You never know what they'll do. Plus, with a shotgun, I'd have to stand far away which gives anyone else a free shot at me. Yeah, no good."

"Like I said, your own judgment, I'm just throwing out ideas." By this time, I had found the warehouse, drove two blocks past it and parked my Chevy.

"Thanks, Lil, they're not bad ideas. Don't worry, no matter what, you'll hear from me after the bust."

"I just wish it didn't take your brother's and now your father's death for us to reconnect." She said with a tinge of regret in her tone.

"I know, but we were both caught up in our careers, in our own lives, and old friendships didn't seem important for a while."

"You really learn who you can trust when it's down to the worst." She sounded a bit strange, distant for a second.

"Lilly…is there something you're not telling me?" A moment passed by and I flinched. "Lilly."

"Oliver found out."

"Shit, how?"

"He hacked his way into my laptop, don't worry, it's heavily encrypted now. He said I was off and he had to know why. He looked through my files, put it all together and freaked out."

"Did he leave you?"

"Um, hah." She laughed nervously.

"Lilly."

"He's locked in my basement."

"Lilly!"

"What, I feed him!"

"He's not a pet, it's Oliver!"

"Exactly, it's Oliver! He can't shut his fucking mouth! I love the guy, but he's just too nervous. I called in sick on his behalf. Once this is over with you, I'll let him out and explain it better."

"He's gonna hate you, Lilly."

"Actually…it's kinda fun." She admitted in a whisper.

"Oh, ew, no! You cannot use my familial disaster to explore your weird ass kinky fetishes!"

"It's not like that, gosh! Just, let's not talk about this, he's safe and being kept quiet, that's all that matters, you're free to move forward, so just…just go." She grumbled, but laughter bubbled through my chest at the images entering my brain.

"Tell Oli I'm sorry about everything before you play bondage."

"Shut up." She snapped.

"You guys are awesome."

"Miley…are you really gay?"

"If you're scouting for a threesome, the answer is no." I couldn't help the suddenly funny mood I was in.

"What the hell, no. I was just – forget it."

"Lilly, I haven't a clue, maybe it's just attraction. Don't worry though, I'm not suddenly interested in every female walking by me."

"It doesn't even matter, just take care tonight, okay?"

"Like I promised, I'll be calling you after this, no worries. Now go feed Oli and don't call me again, I'm heading in."

"Wait for the pictures, I'm sending them now."

"Alright." I agreed and she hung up, leaving me to get out of the truck, open the back door, and find the extra bag I brought. I filled it with two boxes worth of shells, a bottle of water, my flashlight, and a pack of gum because who really wants to kill people with bad breath?

Sliding the bags straps on over my shoulders, I then turned the cell on silent, sliding it into my coat pocket before grabbing the shotgun, a single flare and locking the car, I headed down the pathway, keys in hand.

I tucked them into my jeans pocket, hung the gun over my shoulder and crept down the second block. Men were at the front and rear entrance, sitting, posed like they were simply relaxing, but I knew better. In truth, they were armed and guarding the place in such a misleading manner.

Going to the side of the building, I set the flare off, running around to hide behind a dumpster as it began burst with light.

"What's that?" One voice asked in alarm. The light only turned brighter as I crouched into the small space, using my coat to cloak myself.

Footsteps ran past me in a panic and once I was sure they had turned the corner, I rushed out of concealment and slipped into the warehouse, my gaze anxiously darting all around the large space filled with boxes and crates.

"It's just a flare, some dumb fuck must have done it to rile us up." An irritated voice grated out and I nearly dove behind a stack of crates in my rush. Managing to control myself, I brought the shotgun into my hands, staying here, waiting, and breathing silently as the four men guarding the place all took their posts once more, unaware of my intrusion.

I was still, frozen really, but now I was able to look around the dimly lit area. There was a second level, one set of metal stairs leading upstairs on the left and I could make out more boxes along with metal canisters, wires running about, and a large table in the back of the room with various tools adorning it.

In my position, however, that was all I could identify and peeking out, I frowned to see the rugged men who served as security. All had flasks out, sharing whatever drink they'd brought in, and I could only make out one gun because it poked out the back of a guy's pants as his shirt had ridden up a bit too high.

Resting on one knee, I reached into my coat, pulling out the phone to see Lilly had sent in the requested pictures.

Johnny DeFeo was ugly. Not the asymmetrical face kind of ugly, because I still think that's bordering on bullshit, but his nose was vastly out of place, indicating that it'd been broken a few times too many, he had no hair on his head as it all seemed to go towards the small fluff of hair under his chin which was simply not a good look.

He was a thin, almost toothpick like figure from what I could tell and his eyes were very discerning. I didn't like the vibe I had from just looking at his picture; I could barely imagine what's going to happen when I meet him face to face despite his reaction over the phone.

When a little over three hours rolled by, one of the guys had fallen asleep, a second went outside, probably to pee, and the other two were chatting quietly. Taking my chance as their backs were turned to me, I stood and snuck over to the stairs, climbing up as silently and swiftly as I could.

Just as I made it into a safer area, the second man came back, and smacked his friends head, jolting him awake.

I relaxed up here, knowing that at least if they suspected anyone was around, I'd have more time to react. So, setting down my shotgun, I braced back, pulling my knees inward as I decided to text Lilly out of boredom.

"_So, the coast is clear over here, how are you?"_ A moment later, I received a reply that made me smile.

"_Really, you're in the nest of the enemy, texting me like it's no big thing?!"_

"_It really isn't, I'm actually bored." _

"_Only you, I swear, only you would be bored near death." _

"_I like girls." _Was my silly reply.

"_Can you be more on alert, ya know, in case someone tries to hack you to pieces!" _

"_Italian girls." _

"_Miley..." _

"_With Colts." _

"_She has a Colt, legit?! :o" _

"_Mhm." _

"_What else?"_

"_She dresses very professional too."_

"_Like a butch?" _I rolled my eyes at that.

"_No, well, sort of, but she's feminine in a unique way…a fierce way." _

"_I want pictures!" _

"_Don't have." _

"_You're lame." _

"_Is Oliver still alive?" _

"_Yes, and if you don't stop texting, you won't be for much longer!" _

"_In high school, I had a thing for you." _

"_Really?" _I did my best not to laugh aloud.

"_Sucker." _

"_I hope they shoot you in the butt, not kill you, but just shoot you in the butt." _

"_Okay, okay, you're gonna make me laugh, no more, goodbye." _

And with that, I rested my head back, smiling. It was nice to talk so openly with Lilly again.

* * *

**A/N**: _The lyrics I borrowed are from the song Dashboard by Modest Mouse. It's random, nothing to do with the story, just imagine that it simply played on Miley's radio and she found a way to enjoy it regardless._

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_On a more serious note, I don't know if you all have heard about Hurricane Sandy, but the main reason I've gotten down to writing is because I've been holed up in my place for the past few days. I thought I was lucky having all my classes canceled along with two exams, but things have gotten out of hand. Blocks of houses were literally blown away, over 200 houses collapsed to nothing; in my area alone, 24 people died, including my sisters friend which is just...unfortunate. Thanks to the wind breaking through electrical wires, buildings have gone down in flames...I tried helping a friend earlier today getting her place together and we didn't realize that some gas wires had been ripped so I took a good whiff of god knows what to the nostrils and passed out, but she dragged me to safety before anymore damage was done. _

_Just overall, not a good time for anyone in the way of the storm. My friends are pretty pissed at me since my area seems to be the only one with power and they have to shower in the dark, lol. Anyone who's feeling the effects of mother nature, you have my best wishes and for all those suffering a loss, my condolences. _

_Next chapter will be up soon. Reviews would be pretty wonderful and I send you all my love. _


	10. Chinatown

**Water Drops of Red**

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**Anon E. Mouse**: First off, clever name, lol. Oh man, I'm sorry to hear about your loss of power, heat and water. I hope you're doing alright though and I'm glad my updates helped L:

**LuvMRayC**: Wow, thanks so much. I'm sure I'm not the best writer, but I really appreciate the compliments :] So far, everything is alright with me, and thank you for the concern.

**DoIHaveTo**: Lol, thanks and I'm fine. I agree about it being hard to lose a friend; they are pretty special and irreplaceable. Lol, I don't think I've ever written Lilly as completely evil in a story, but hey, glad you liked seeing her so friendly ^.^ Lmao, I have no comments about Oliver and Lilly, hah. Dude! I didn't know there was gas leaking, gosh! LOL. I'm so lame for passing out like that.

**Gunner3284**: Lol, you should take pride in all that knowledge; it's pretty intimidating, but in a good way ^.^ I'm sure Miley will kick some ass for you and things are getting back to normal now, but apparently another storm is coming…I just hope it's not as bad. Anyways, thanks and take care L:

**Guest**: Thanks so much, I'm doing well, and enjoy!

**Mythical Mania**: Glad you like Lilly in the story, lol. Now that you mention it, I might include more of them soon L: Lmfao, so you only want me to stay alive to finish this story, gee thanks! Lol, jk :p Enjoy the update.

**TheBoondockRox**: It really wasn't and thank you so very much, for the concern and the compliment L:

**Lisaand**: Lol, I'm not so into the crime genre either, but I went out on a limb with this story and I'm glad that some people are enjoying it though it's not my usual thing. Thanks and yeah, it was bad, but I hope all is well on your side L: Take care and enjoy.

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**Chapter 10: **Chinatown

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**Miley's POV**

I wanted to run more than anything right now. The place was swarming with men and not one of them thought to come up here to scope the place out to call it clear. That's just sloppy mafia work right there.

I glanced at the phone to see it was 6:58 p.m. I had spent the whole night awake, waiting patiently, very patiently, staring off into nothingness because all that was in front of me was a dark wall.

Pipes dripped and the sounds entertained for a moment because I could memorize the pattern, but that soon became beyond boring and bordering on the likes of psychological torture.

Adrenaline was nearing and threatening to burst through to contaminate my pulsing veins with a natural rush because it was a matter of seconds and another minute passed, stamped by the men scurrying away.

In total, there were only nine men here; it just seemed like so much more to me with how they bustled about, yelling at each other.

The four from last night had left and four new men, tougher ones took their places. Shortly after those posts were traded, in came two other men to make sure everything was in order.

At 6:17 p.m., the truck arrived, two minutes late which was what caused an unnecessary fuss.

Three men were in the truck, two to guard the goods, one to drive, making for a total of nine now.

7:00 p.m. struck and as if on cue, never missing a beat, in strolled six additional men.

I recognized the first one as DeFeo, leading the way with two others by his sides, both having some sort of machine gun idle in their hands.

Behind him was who I assumed was buying the drugs, a shorter man, graying hair, wearing an expensive suit, also accompanied by two bodyguards dressed to the part in their black suits, weapons not yet visible.

My own eyes narrowed as I focused on my target. The two leading men chatted softly before a briefcase was passed to one of DeFeo's guys. Upon inspection, approval was granted seeing a large sum of money and with an elated smile, Johnny snapped his fingers to one of the men by their beloved truck. Within moments two of them carried three large crates out, setting it on the floor.

The older man checked his merchandise with a satisfied smile once finished and gestured for his two men to pick up the goods so they could be off.

It was one minute later when the storm came charging in. The two front entrance guards, from where I could see were knocked out and a loud, commanding voice yelled out:

"NYPD, drop your weapons, you've been surrounded!" Before any consideration could be made, a series of gunshots went off. Rifles, machine guns, pistols, and even a few revolvers were all joining together for one loud take-down.

DeFeo was immediately covered by six guys who ushered him into hiding behind a tall column while shooting back behind crates.

Badges poured in, about a half-a-dozen invading the warehouse so fast. Two of the men working for DeFeo instantly turned their loyalties and tried to shoot his real bodyguards, but only managed to get one before they were wounded.

The confusion was immense and I decided it was time to join.

Cocking my shotgun, I could feel as a bullet entered the chamber and I slid up against my protective barrier, peeking over the banister.

DeFeo was on his phone and I realized why because less than two minutes later, four more men joined the shoot-out, rushing in from the rear entrance, machine guns in hand.

Bodies were falling like nothing to the floor and the cops weren't backing down, but neither were Cicero's men.

I smiled, having the perfect line of sight and more importantly wonderful range. From up here, I could take out anyone I chose.

And as much as my gun aimed on its own for DeFeo, I changed last moment, taking out his man furthest from him. My mind was made, I'd pick them off, one by one, slowly working my way closer to him.

By the time I'd killed four men, both cops and thugs were astounded alike, finally looking up to see where the deadly shots had come from.

It was clockwork. Cock, aim, shoot.

Unable to see me completely and realizing I wasn't taking out any of the _good guys_, the drug unit probably assumed I was one of theirs and cheered while DeFeo and his men took better cover, now returning fire in my direction.

Pausing for a moment, I reached into my jacket pockets and quickly reloaded the shotgun, then continued on in hitting each new target.

It was getting old, fast. The more I killed, the more he called. They were almost never ending and despite my unintentional help, the drug unit was fading quickly, clearly not wanting to lose more men even as they called for back-up.

I couldn't take it anymore, I wanted this over and done with and my mind was set. Just as I crouched down to survey the lower level, out of my peripheral, I caught movement and reflex took over as I whirled around, cocking and unloading a round into the oncoming man who instantly fell and rolled down the metal steps. But behind him came another one, intent on success, but I repeated the action, and he slumped over, landing on his friend.

I let a moment roll by to make sure the steps were clear before springing over to the pair, grabbing what appeared to be a Glock from the first man and two spare magazines from the second. I shoved them into my pocket, slung the shotgun over my shoulder and slunk further down.

The gun was set to shoot as I held it steadily in front of me, sliding behind the first set of metal containers I could find.

I worked my way closer and closer to where I knew DeFeo hid. Behind me, I could feel it and just as I turned, I pulled the trigger, watching a bullet slice into this guy's forehead. He collapsed and I considered taking his machine gun, but decided against it since I probably couldn't make use of the thing.

Hearing the bang, another man appeared and met the same reaction, losing his life as well in the midst of all the commotion.

And there he was, Johnny DeFeo, gun in one hand, cellphone in another.

He thought he had two men over here, protecting him as he calmly spoke into his device.

"They'll give up soon, Giovanni. Their men are thinning, I just need a few more guys to get in here, our forces need to stay large, it should scare them off faster. Send in three sets of four through the rear. Yeah, I'll keep you updated, stay with me, Gio."

Reaching back, I brought out the switch-blade, taking a glance back to see that I was clear.

"We have leaks, that's for sure, boss. Two of my men turned on me, have Richie run checks on everyone, down to the cooks, best to stay safe." He said with that memorable and thick accent.

Letting the blade release and spring outwards, Johnny heard the small click and spun around, pulling his trigger without a second thought while I lurched forward, pushing his armed hand away as he grunted, both of us struggling.

I could hear Cicero's voice demanding to know what happened before the phone slid out of Johnny's hand while I pressed my blade tight against his neck, then the tip of the Glock right beneath his rib-cage.

"Drop it." I whispered and his stare was hard as he complied. Hardly taking my gaze from his, I shot down the three men that came to his aid.

"That was you on the phone." He growled, his anger rising as I pressed the blade deeper, drawing blood and earning a low groan to escape him.

"You bet it was." I confirmed, dragging the blade down his chest, leaving the trail of a thin scar as I went, making him quiver from pain as the skin was sliced.

"Cicero will kill you for this!"

"I'm sure he'll try."

"Why did you do that to Matty!" He demanded.

"I'm the daughter of the corpse you left in a bloody little home in Malibu. Remember that?" His eyes widened, disbelief provoked.

"That can't be, he had one daughter and she's dead!"

"Well, I must be a ghost then." I crooned, slowly pressed the blade into his chest, letting him feel every torturous bit of this. Momentarily paralyzed, his legs buckled as he fell to floor, and I bent to one knee, releasing the knife.

Checking the Glock's current magazine status, I learned that there was only one bullet left, so I removed it, tucked the two pieces away and reloaded the pistol with a new magazine containing a fresh set of bullets.

I did it just in time too, because into this corner stumbled a young man, shock making him yelp to see to the state his boss was in. He should have ran, but he lifted his gun and so I fired at him too.

Turning back to Johnny, I frowned.

"We're not done yet, Mr. DeFeo." Gripping the handle of my switchblade, I leisurely drew it out, his entire body convulsing.

I'm not sure what I did, whether you might call them incisions or full on puncture wounds, but within a short amount of time, in the midst of this ridiculous and pretty much pointless shootout, I managed to brutally torment Johnny DeFeo, eliciting cries of anguish and screams of suffering.

And no matter how many of his men rushed to rescue him, they were just not quick enough, only earning themselves a jacketed hollow point to the head or chest.

"Please, just finish it." He begged once I'd severed each major vein of his.

"Oh, it's done, you get to bleed out slowly, sound familiar?" I questioned and his eyes rolled back, the pain becoming too much as he passed out.

Prints and all, I left the switchblade in the middle of Johnny's chest and stood up, my hands wonderfully steady with success.

Three sets of four.

If only that didn't mean so much, but that's what Johnny ordered. Three sets of four men to rush through the back and take out the drug unit that was still somehow here. Picking up the nearly forgotten cell phone, I brought it to my ear.

My breathing became just a bit heavy bringing about attention.

"Johnny? Johnny! What's going on, I sent the men, do you need more? Johnny?"

"He's dead." I whispered and silence followed. "But don't worry, Giovanni, you'll be joining your friend soon."

Just as I dropped the phone, in came a new set of criminals to ambush the badges. I peeked out and my gaze froze on one that I didn't expect to see.

"Mikayla." I murmured to myself. I'd never actually seen her in action, so I was intrigued of course and faintly smiling with the stance she held.

In a pair of black pants, a white shirt was tucked in with a stylish belt to match and neatly laced boots. Adding to the ferocity of the situation, a machine gun was strapped around her shoulder though it was untouched much like the ammunition slung across her form.

I observed the way she took charge, literally gripping, then lifting the end of a metal work table and pushing it up to stand as a shield. Two men rushed in behind her to help as well as make use of the armor and she surged forward, firing the familiar suppressed Colt like it were programmed into her DNA.

Each bullet had a target and never failed to hit an officer, all of them hurtling to the floor quickly.

Reloading was a breath of air for her as she stooped down, slid the old magazine out, pushed a new one in, working the gun with ease before springing back into action.

Ex-military did her good if that was true. It seemed to be in her blood to kill. She didn't even blink at some of those nearly noiseless shots.

Holding the loaded Glock to my side, I stole away slowly, creeping behind any object momentarily till I was out the rear exit.

Lilly was right, the place was swarming with badges, but they were all occupied in combat. Just as I was about to make a dash for it, a noise had me swirling around, ready to fire, but I didn't because I quickly recognized the presence of Mikayla.

Her hand sought mine and without a single word, she led me back up to the second level of the warehouse, dragging us past walls of wires and stocks or crates of things I could care less about.

"Where's DeFeo?" She demanded, turning to face me abruptly.

"Behind one of the back right pillars, in a corner."

"Dead, I presume."

"Possibly, I would think he's bled out by now, or soon will." I confirmed without revealing a single emotion.

"Why didn't you take my jacket?" She asked heatedly. She honestly seemed more angry about her spurned clothing than a dead _colleague_.

"It's just a jacket." I reasoned, playing dumb which she clearly didn't like.

"It was a sign."

"Of what, Mikayla? I don't have the time for this-"

"Oh no, you don't!" She interrupted. "You don't get to walk away after all this shit you're putting me through, killing men I need alive, then not even having the decency to accept my help."

"I don't need or want your help."

"If I wasn't helping you right now, you would have ran out there and most likely gotten yourself caught!"

"What better am I doing up here with you?" I drawled and she scowled before tugging me along, further in.

"There's an exit, you can easily get over to the next building and climb down the fire escape."

"Fine, thank you for your help." I grated out, reaching for the doorknob, but her hand pulled me back, turning my body into her as she lured me in for an unwanted embrace. I could feel her warm breath against the shell of my ear and I fought back a shiver as my eyes shut of their own accord. When her hand cupped my cheek, drawing me even closer, I refused to respond to her.

"You're much better than I thought." She whispered, pressing a slow kiss into my hair.

_Fuck_, I thought to myself as she let go and backed away. By the time I had opened my eyes, she was in the midst of the action down there and here I was, unnerved by Mikayla Marshall once again.

"Fuck, just fuck." I groaned and left, following her instructions to a safe getaway. "Stupid ass shootout." I grumbled, finding my truck and getting in, frustration pouring off of me in waves as I tossed my things into the passenger seat before taking off.

It wasn't till I stopped at a red light that I realized I had no actual place to go.

Splattered in blood, sweat, and reeking of that distinct gun scent, I frowned, finding my cell phone.

"Miley!" Lilly exclaimed, clearly excited.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alive, we can celebrate later. I need to know the safest place to stay for me right now."

"Oh…um, you know what, my dad lives in New York." She murmured, but I knew that was not a choice considering my state.

"Covered in blood, my dear."

"Gross, please, you know I don't like to hear about it."

"Well, hurry up, in this condition, I'm serious badge bait."

"Well, the area you're in, lower east side of Manhattan, it's nicknamed _Little Italy_, for obvious reasons, but I know that Chinatown is connected. Try heading there, it's crowded so you may have an easier time, just clean up, and rent a room, I'm sure for the right amount of money, you can buy nearly anything."

"Why do you say it like that, _nearly anything_?" I asked, drawing out the words like she had.

"What – no, Miley, just go, now." She ordered, agitated as I chuckled and hung up.

I had no other option, I decided and so I found my bottle of water, the shirt I wore yesterday and used it to clean to blood off my hands.

Changing and driving is no easy task, but I managed well enough, removing the messed coat and sweater to change into a navy colored tank and my gray jacket. I took off the beanie, tying my hair back into an untidy ponytail and then packed up my duffle bag with one hand, steering with the other.

Sliding the shotgun underneath the passenger seat, I filled one of the magazine clips with the last few bullets I had scored and reloaded the stolen Glock, stuffing the gun into the back of my waistband, certain that my jacket would more than cover it.

"Hey, dude!" I called out loudly to the man driving alongside me. He seemed startled and leaned closer to his window, nodding.

"What direction is Chinatown?"

"Oh, keep driving down this avenue!" He yelled out. "Make a left on Canal." After that, he told me to make a series of rights and lefts which quickly did not register, so I thanked him and decided to wing it since I had an idea already.

"Appreciate it." I smiled and he gave a small wave before returning his concentration to the road.

Twelve minutes later, after asking two other strangers, I found myself parking in a crowded lot.

With my duffle bag in tow, I began walking along Chinatown, taking in the numerous little colorful shops and huts. Everybody appeared to be so busy even as the sun was beginning to go down.

It was nice to just be around people who had no focus on me as they purchased wonderfully crafted trinkets and things. Whoever said New York had no culture? They had this free-spirit artful thing going on, at least here they did.

A small, nearly undetectable neon vacancy sign caught my eye and I pushed past a sea of people to get inside the empty place. There was just a counter and behind it sat an empty chair.

"Welcome, you here for a room?" The unmistakably Asian accented woman questioned as she appeared from behind a door. Turning to see her, she was old, very old; wrinkles creased her face, running down her neck, and her hands as well. She was shaky as she sluggishly moved behind the counter, taking out a large book and opening it.

Her red robe-like top stood out and made her appear a bit cheery, but her eyes looked tired as she glanced up at me, awaiting an answer.

"Yes, anything will do."

"Good, we have on-y one room!" My brows lifted because she talked so forcefully. If I didn't know better, I'd think she were yelling at me, but in reality, I suppose that's how she spoke English best.

"How much?"

"One night – one hun-ded dalla's!" I bit back a smile at her pronunciation and reached into my pocket for the cash. Just as I was counting the bills, I realized there was a small TV behind me, hooked up to the wall.

My chest fell as I noticed my face was on that screen with a list of reasons as to why I was wanted.

Looking back to the lady, I was about to say never mind and rush out of here because her gaze had settled on it as well, but she looked back at me with a small huff.

"Price go up – two hun-ded for you!" She announced as my forehead creased.

"Wait, you don't care that I'm wanted?" I asked uncertainly to which she leaned in, patting my hand with hers.

"You have nice, simple spirit and good money." She replied and I laughed, setting down the two hundred straightaway. Adding an extra fifty, I let her know I was serious.

"Anyone comes looking for me, I'm not here." Nodding, she reached under her counter and pulled out a single key, handing it over.

"You get that room." She informed me, pointing to the door she had exited from. Offering her one more grateful smile, I took the key and walked off, entering the room.

It wasn't bad, very simple. A full-sized bed sat in the middle, an old dresser across from it, a nightstand with a lamp next to the bed, then one other door which I opened to find a small bathroom ready to use.

The place also seemed like it had just been cleaned up and so I relieved myself of the gun, dropping it on the mattress before I sat down, letting out a long sigh while searching through my duffle bag for a change of clothes.

Without warning, the door opened and I jumped up, relaxing only when I saw the old woman there. She walked in and set down a tray of food.

"Hey, um, I didn't order anything." I protested and she gave me a stern look.

"You so thin, eat." She ordered. With the pace of a snail, I walked over, peering down at the food.

"What-what is it?" I asked.

"Food." Was the answer before she left. I smiled to myself, sort of liking the older woman's amusing presence as I learned what she meant by food.

I discovered a small serving of rice, what I think are dumplings, a piece of bread and a black saucy dish with vegetables in it. To drink was a cup of tea which I took first, surprised at how good it actually was.

The food was more than decent and I'd eaten all of it, even the bread before I went off for my much needed shower.

As the warm water washed me of today's events, I closed my eyes and tried to feel clean despite all that I've done.

* * *

**A/N**: No internet at home, must update at school; half-asleep, delirious, running on coffee - about to take a midterm, hope you all enjoy this update - love you all very much, about to pass out, wish me luck and please review to make this day worth something :3


	11. Floating

**Water Drops of Red**

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**Guest**: Lol, glad I made your sister think you're nuts. Thanks and here's the update so you stay sane L:

**LuvMRayC**: Lol, thanks. I think I did well c: And I agree that Mikiley moments are awesome. Hah, thank you for all that flattery ^.^

**Lisaand**: Glad you liked her and thank you, I hope I did well too L:

**KT**: Lol, it made me laugh too. Thank you very much and I'm glad you're liking it all ^.^ Enjoy.

**Mythical Mania**: It's okay to be insensitive when it comes to wanting more Mikiley, lmao. And I really appreciate you saying that, you're awesome yourself [= I love all the compliments and I hope it is, lol.

**DoIHaveTo**: Going without internet was torture. I actually found out in school that my internet was back and I started jumping around happily. My classmates and professor saw me through the door, lmao. I'm sure energy drinks work better but I don't drink them, lol. I love your review and hope you enjoy this update ^.^

**Magi97**: Lol xD I'm glad you're loving it more and more. Also, I never planned on writing Mikayla's POV but now that you brought it up, I'll see what I can do L: Thanks for the review and enjoy L=

** LevyaLocaLoba**: I'm perfectly fine and I'm sorry about your cousin. Glad to hear she's alright and don't die. I plan to finish all my stories [: I really want to update Never Letting Go but it might be a little bit of a wait. I will finish it though so you can take comfort in that L:

**Guest**: I am going to update right now o.o Lol, thank you.

**KD**: Are you KT too? Here you are, lol.

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**Chapter 11**: Floating

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**Miley's POV**

In and out of sleep, tossing, turning – the whole uncomfortable cycle of sleeplessness, on the brinks of insomnia and paranoia.

That's where I lay.

On my stomach, my face turned to the right, hand underneath this pillow, gripping a loaded gun, my heart beat steady but my mind restless. I was just waiting for what I wasn't sure would come.

I didn't think to leave as I lay here but when a soft cracking outside my window was heard escape is all that came to mind. I sprang up, weapon in hand, rushing over to the window because my reflex said fight over flight.

Nothing was there.

Just fear.

Turning from the window, I exhaled shakily to rid myself of these sudden nerves and if you were watching this like a movie, you might be yelling at the screen:_ Why did you turn away?! The killer is at the window! Turn back, goddammit!_

I know I would, but when you're in the moment, it's hard to realize what's wrong and what's just plain stupid. So, it's no real surprise when a loud thud sounded from behind and a hand covered my mouth muffling possible protests while another gripped my gun-holding hand, forcing me to drop it.

"Shh, shh, it's me, relax." She soothed as I began thinking of ways to get out of my predicament only to learn that I wasn't in one. I stilled before she let go of me, giving me a chance to catch my breath and turn around.

"Knocking, Mikayla. It's a good thing." I commented dryly as I picked the pistol up and set it down on my dresser knowing I wouldn't need it with her here.

"The window is just so much more appealing." She smiled, leaning against the sill and with a frown, I crossed my arms.

"How did you find me?" I wouldn't be surprised if she inserted some kind of tracking device in my brain at this point.

"Remember when I told you I removed that GPS from your car?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I put in a tracker of my own. You sort of have this knack for running." She chuckled, clearly pleased with herself.

"My truck is parked a few blocks from here though."

"Sure is, but don't forget, Miley. New York City is my home. I know Manhattan like I know my social security number. There aren't many places that rent rooms around Chinatown; all I had to do was show your picture to the managers, read their body language well enough and presto! Here I am."

"Seems like a bit much to get to me."

"Is this where I say something cheesy and reassuring?" Straightening up, Mikayla put on the most sincere expression and with an air of humor, she proceeded to look deeply into my eyes. "You were worth all my time, every moment I was showing that picture, I knew I'd find you, those excruciating fifteen minutes of my life but you were worth it and I thank the heavens that now, we are here – together-"

"Please stop." I requested, a breathless laugh bubbling up from me at her little performance. Grinning, she held her hands up in surrender and nodded.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself." She conceded, one hand resting on her stomach while brown eyes twinkled with humor.

"So, what now?" I murmured, staring at her. Her lips held their smile but her expression turned serious.

"Why DeFeo?"

"For being so close to Cicero, you don't know enough."

"There are certain things he doesn't tell me, it's not my business and if I ask, well, that might make the man suspicious."

"Ignazio and DeFeo killed my father." Her brows lifted as understanding dawned.

"What Cicero did tell me today, however, is that some stranger whispered a threat to him over Johnny's phone."

"And you want to know if it was me?" She nodded and I imitated the gesture, confirming her suspicion.

"I thought you were working alone but now I know better. No one could have known about that deal today without inside help. I won't ask who and I won't lie, I hate what you're doing, how you're doing it-"

"I never asked for your validation." I interjected, cutting her off.

"Let me finish, stop being so defensive because all I wanted to say was, I understand it. Sure, it's messing a lot up for me professionally speaking but I still respect it, Miley. I respect you and that you keep living, keep fighting. At least you're doing it for love and that's more meaningful than why half the men in the business kill."

"Why do you do it?" I asked, curious now that she brought this aspect up.

"I was born for this, family business and all."

"You just answered me without answering." I pointed out.

"It's a skill." She joked as my eyes slowly took in the fact that she was in the same outfit she wore during the shootout. The image of that machine gun strapped around her as she tore into the action, combat boots sliding across dirty floors with pure practiced ease in her movements – it suddenly took over my thoughts.

"The way you're looking at me." She whispered, eyes narrowing slightly. "I've faced bullets, men twice my size, even been locked in a room with a bomb less than a minute from detonation yet right now I don't know what I'm doing." Her admission caught me off guard.

What was more off-putting was the flash of sadness quickly replaced by a forced, sheepish shrug. What am I missing here?

"You're saying one thing and I believe it but what are you not telling me?"

"When someone lies or more importantly, hides the truth, isn't up to the other to notice? To figure it out before everything is completely ruined?"

"Maybe."

"And if that person can't see through the façade, who's at fault; the one who wears a mask or the one who couldn't take it off?"

"I don't know, Mikayla. I'm lost." She leant against the window sill once more, arms crossing tightly across her chest while she stared past me as if she were gathering her thoughts. In the meantime, I stood rooted in my place a few feet in front of her, watching and waiting to understand where this conversation was heading.

And then she laughed lightly. Like the whole thing was silly.

"I have to go."

"Cicero needs you." I muttered knowingly.

"What can I say? This is my life. It's not easy, not meant to be but it's what I know, it's what I do. So when it calls, I have to answer."

"Buy yourself an answering machine."

"Then what?" I could hear some form of hope in her tone that made my insides want to melt and the feeling was strange and painful because I longed to keep her here despite better judgment.

"Then you stay with me." The words were decided when I said them. Doubt may be in my mind but it sure as hell knew to stay away from her.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" Her response was low and edgy, like a dare, a soft-spoken challenge.

"You won't get the chance to find out if you leave."

"I hate this." She sighed, holding her hand out.

Accepting it, I let her tug me closer until I was standing in between her legs, my free hand straying to the nape of her neck.

"Don't worry, we're a temporary thing." I assured.

She grimaced, drawing me closer till my senses were overwhelmed with her. The smell of her, the feel of her, the touch of her, even the sound of her voice, sound of her breath and this innate desire to have a taste of it all.

The way the tip of her nose pressed into the front of my throat, lingering and tickling had me lose basic awareness of my surroundings.

"Even when I'm not aroused you rouse me. It makes no sense." My hands found their way to her belt, unbuckling, then unzipping and I could have easily slid my hand inside but instead, I gripped her sex through the cloth, enjoying the need for a sharp intake it produced.

"I've never liked sex so much." I admitted and through lidded eyes, I could perceive the amusement.

"Is that what this is, good sex?" She whispered, biting her lower lip as I found the center of her excitement and massaged it against the soft barrier of fabric.

"That's all it can be." I countered as I removed my hand to start unbuttoning her shirt.

A gentle growl ripped from her throat when she stood, the movement showing me that she was finally giving in completely as she pushed her pants down, then tossed her shirt away while kicking the boots off.

Her hands were all over me next, helping me undress to just my panties before we fell back on the bed together.

"I want to know who you were before I met you." How could I explain that? "I want to know if you would have been here, underneath me like this had we crossed paths any other way." It's not likely. "I wonder, am I just a warm body to you, an experiment, comfort, what? What am I?" She desired to learn as the length of her pressed down on top of me while she searched for the answers.

"You are a warm body but the world is full of them, you may be an experiment but I'm not experimenting; if we met another way I don't know what I might think of you and before now, I was alive and I was warm too."

"But today you burn." She concluded, resting on an elbow so that she could continue to peer at me with curious orbs.

"What about you?" I inquired as my hand traveled up until I found myself twirling a strand of her hair between my fingers.

"Everything you want to know about me, you can't and everything you need to know about me, you do." I wasn't sure what to make of Mikayla's response and didn't care with the way she burrowed her face between my neck and shoulder, breathing deeply and evenly.

My legs opened just enough for her to fit into me and her arms slid beneath my waist, pulling me up, into her. Lips brushed against my skin on and off as if deliberating and wavering while my hands found interest in moving along the soft skin of her back, sometimes just touching, other times wrapping round to bring her closer before playing the exploration game once more.

"I have nothing left to say." I murmured as her tongue made an appearance, drawing a line from my collarbone to the middle of my breasts.

"I have so much." She whispered, resting her head against my naked chest. "But I'm tired now and words won't help."

We fell asleep that way. It wasn't a long time later before I learned how right she was. When you're tired, absolutely exhausted, words are useless and bodies simply cling.

* * *

I awoke alone. I wasn't surprised; I almost forgot that I'd been to sleep with her since it still felt surreal.

Laying in that bed, nearly nude I was relaxed before a loud thump outside the door made me sit up, suddenly on alert.

"You don't pay, you don't stay!" I chuckled to myself as I got up and began pulling on my clothes. The loud voice of the Asian woman penetrated the walls and I quickly stuffed my weapon into the back of my waistband before opening the door to peek out.

"Mrs. Lee, please?! I'll pay you tomorrow, I swear!" A middle-aged, scruffy guy in a partially torn and shaggy outfit promised but the old lady shook her head from side to side sternly.

"You lie! You say you pay tomorrow yesterday and day before yesterday and day before that day, you lie!" She accused, poking him in the chest. "Go away and give me back keys!" Her head whipped around in my direction taking note of me. "You!" She began and I felt like a child for the first time in maybe seven years because of her tone. "You sleep with girl in my motel?" She shook her head animatedly. "That cost extra!" Holy shit, how did she know? "I see her sneak out window! Bad – dirty!" She reprimanded and I quickly moved back into the room, grabbing my wallet, pulling out a few bills that seemed sufficient in hopes that it would appease her.

"Here, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." I apologized, earning a solemn look from the other guy.

"Hmph." Mrs. Lee huffed as she took the money and went around the counter to put it away. Not wanting to deal with this, I shot the guy a look of pity before turning to go back into the safety of my room. Just as I closed the door, my eyes widened from hearing the muttered words. "Skinny slut."

I pressed my forward against the wall and let out a low groan.

My god, fucking lady scares me more than Cicero.

Searching through my things, I quickly located the cell phone and dialed Lilly.

"Where are you?" She answered just as I plopped down onto the bed.

"Safe, motel, mean old woman." She laughed, getting the gist of things.

"Mm, alright. How're you feeling?"

"I feel good."

"Ready?"

"Very. I should probably mention though, after I committed the wonderful deed, I spoke to him on DeFeo's phone." Lilly was silent for a moment.

"You told him what exactly?"

"Basically that I'm coming for him but I whispered so I'm sure he doesn't know exactly who I am yet."

"Miley, think about this. Anyone of those men at that shootout could have seen and recognized you, then reported back to Cicero. Hell, the warehouse might have a recording system we don't know about. Or, maybe he did recognize your voice over the phone. Just don't go in thinking you have the element of surprise."

"And here I was thinking I could just announce myself with a bang and take them all out."

"It might be more worthwhile to slink in and work your way over to him. Seems like your best bet to get close to the guy since he's gonna be heavily guarded after the two murders on his men."

"Do you have anything for me?" I asked, rubbing my left temple.

"Yes. Every evening he drops by his restaurant to meet his guests; they tend to be valuable customers and I don't mean for the wonderful Italian cuisine. Where he is before that is uncertain because he works a lot, driving around and meeting people or just doing what he wants. But get this, after visiting his restaurant, he tends to go have supper with his . . . live in lover."

"Hooker?"

"Not really, more like a paid girlfriend, I guess."

"What's the difference?"

"She's loyal and probably not sleeping with other men."

"So we have two places I can reach him." I established from what she was telling me.

"Yes, both equally difficult."

"I'd be an idiot to attack him in his home."

"Yeah, I agree. At least if you do it in that public restaurant more people will create more chaos and you'll be able to slip away. One clean bullet to head and then you're gone like you were never there. By the time his guards realize he's dead, they won't know who did it." Nodding, I mhm'd into the phone, seeing her point clearly.

"Good, it's settled then. I'll kill him in his own home."

"Miley!"

"C'mon, Lilly, you know how I want this done; that I need to do it right. In his home, I can best him, look into his eyes, watch him watch me as I pull the trigger and make everything in this mental little world somewhere closer to okay again."

"I understand. The whole point of this . . . it's not just to kill him but to terrorize him and make him see how unfair it was. It should have ended with your brother but he made it worse. That's what drives you, isn't it? To make his ending happen the way it's supposed to."

"What else is left to believe in? Family, gone. Career, gone. Sanity, threads of it remain but only to focus on this. If I can't see that there's a sense of justice within all the crap, I don't think I can live a world like this, where good people die and bad ones thrive."

"You know, Miley, I used to think that to accomplish something, anything that's important would be nearly impossible. Becoming a lawyer was so hard, getting through my relationships, they were painful and missing good friends like you, it was depressing. Whenever I learn of people doing great things, I feel so intimidated by it. Like I could never do it and for the first in my life, I'm breaking rules and I'm not getting caught. I'm helping you and I'm not afraid. I'm holding a hostage and I don't regret it at all. I could lose my job too and though I love it, it stands no chance against what's happening right now. In the worst case scenario, I could die and it doesn't mean a damn thing to me. Now I get why I used to be so intimidated. It's because I was jealous and wanted that feeling of freedom from life. I'm not saying I'm ready to die but I am saying that I feel like I'm ready to live and I'm excited and I'm spurred on with the need to overcome this unfairness with you. So when you say that you need to do this the right way, to do it your way, I want you to know that I'm _there_ with you and I _understand_ you and I _agree_ with you."

At this point I was heartbroken with happiness, sadness, a sense of relief and closeness.

"You're wonderful, Lilly. Thank you."

"You are so welcome, Miley. I love you." Nodding my head, a few stray tears slipped out and I swiped at them.

"I love you too, Lil."

"Go, rest. In a few hours you'll have to get back into confronting him. Don't forget to eat and I'll hear from you soon, right?"

"Of course and tell Oliver I love him. Tell him I'm sorry."

"I will." This is the part where we're supposed to say goodbye but a thick silence infiltrated the soft-spoken moment before Lilly let out a breath. "What is it?" She opened the doorway and I decided to take a step in.

"Last night . . . I slept with her."

"Oh."

"I know, I'm a skinny slut." I could practically see the flash of confusion in Lilly's features followed by her outburst of laughter.

"Skinny slut?" She repeated, slightly baffled.

"Yeah, it's a long story. Remind me to tell you sometime." I offered as a weak promise of a decent ending in which I might actually have the chance.

"Trust me when I say that I will definitely not forget to ask but tell me about last night."

"Well, she found me actually and snuck into the room I'm staying in. We talked but nothing was actually said; it's confusing. I was lost most of the conversation."

"And then?"

"We started to get closer, physically speaking. Um, clothes came off but nothing happened."

"What do you mean nothing happened?"

"We just slept." Silence. I could feel Lilly contemplate what I'd shared.

"So you're telling me that you two talked, then took off your clothes and slept in bed together . . . without having sex at all?"

"Sort of, yeah."

"Hm, okay. Well, Miley."

"Stop, just stop. It's not, we're not-"

"Actions speak louder than words. I don't have to say anything."

"Words make it real." I muttered. "I'm not ready for the definition of this."

"Doesn't matter. You already know, you're just rejecting it which is useless but then again, so is accepting it, I guess."

"It'll pass. In the meantime though, I'd like to let it happen."

"I won't say anything, Miley. Not because I don't want to or can't but because I don't need to. Since we've met, if there's anything that I have learned, it's that when your decisions are wacky or just a bit too out there, they always seem to work for you so go with it. Either way, I'm still here." I dropped my head into my hand and exhaled.

"You ever felt like you were just floating nowhere? Like the world doesn't exist and your head and heart are completely connected so that you can't differentiate what you're thinking and what you're feeling?" Lilly didn't answer me. She just listened to the question and thought about it.

We soon hung up before I looked over at the window.

Hearts are supposed to be conflicted with the mind. It's the natural state of a human being: to want but know and accept that they cannot have.

I want but I seem to believe that I can have. Maybe it's this belief that will carry me to the end.

Maybe I need to suspend my reality further and accomplish this last goal.

Sitting here, thinking about it all was just too daunting and so I stood up and decided to just act.

"Giovanni Adriano Cicero, it seems like tonight will be your last supper. I pray it tastes like ash."

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**A/N**: _Mikayla's POV was requested. Initially, I didn't plan to include it but is anyone else interested in reading that or would you all prefer that I keep it in Miley's POV?_


	12. Played

**Water Drops of Red**

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**FallenSoldier15**: You're always sad when they don't go all the way, LMAO. Man, I love that word: sucia xD I think your wife introduced it to me…and that could be a really bad joke :x LOL. My bad, haha. I miss you both, but I'm really touched that you continue to review :] It means a lot –wipes away a single tear- Lol. Dude…when I made up Mrs. Lee, I was thinking of the Chinese lady I buy food from, but the one from Victorious works well too ^.^ Thanks so much for the compliment and I hope you're enjoying the holidays :] Hope the tour went/is going well. It's been too long.

**LuvMRayC**: You're too sweet! I'll surely keep in mind to bring on the Mikiley moments, in whatever way I can :D Thank you so much though, your constant reviews definitely help me understand where I'd like to take this story ^.^

**Lisaand**: Yeah, it was nice that they slept together :3 And hah, glad you like her ^.^ Thanks so much and of course I will keep going :D

**Sleepy**: Man, I wish you had used an actual username because your theories are very interesting :D Thank you for sharing them with me and I think I need a night of spy movies, lol.

**TheBoondocksRox**: I will definitely address that topic so everyone is happy :]

**DoIHaveTo**: Trust me, I know. Lol. Aw, you flatter me too much! Thank you for being so kind. Also, congrats on the boyfriend :o And dammit, I wanted to see Skyfall, heard it was good, but I never made it to the theater. Maybe I'll catch it soon though, I love a good Bond flick. Also, thanks for the feedback, I really do appreciate it :]

**Mythical Mania**: Lmao! Choke on his cannoli? Gross, haha. Loved this review, it made me laugh and I thank you greatly for the consistent reviews [:

**Magi97**: Okay, now I feel accomplished. You steal my phrases? I've always wanted someone to steal my phrases :D Thank you for that boost to my ego! LOL. Also, thanks for that feedback and that wonderful review :]

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**A/N**: So, it's been a month since I updated this. I won't lie: I had a tough time making it through my finals, and I got really sick which didn't help matters at all. In addition, I really got into the Rizzles (Rizzoli and Isles) fandom and that took a lot of my attention away, but in the end, it just really made me miss my OTP, which of course, is Mikiley :D I think it's safe to say I'm back here for good now. On that note, happy holidays to everyone, I hope you're all doing well and having fun. Now, onto the story! c:

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**Chapter 12**: Played

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**Miley's POV**

It had been too good, just too easy for me and to think this wouldn't happen. Man, was I a fool. A completely reckless idiot, but it's not like I had a fucking chance, not when the betrayal was so...so tempting.

She made my world dark.

"Take off the blindfold." Bright, too bright! My eyes narrowed, squeezed shut, then squinted at the new blinding light. I let out a low, frenzied breath and met gray eyes above a smug, winning smile.

"Miley Stewart, you must feel played, tell me, do you feel played?" he asked, gripping the arms of the chair I was bound to so he could look directly at me. I wanted nothing more than to tell him to fuck off, but that would get me nowhere and so far, they hadn't beat the living shit out of me – I guess I was hoping to keep it that way because no matter how much fury I felt, I was sick of the physical torture, especially when the mental onslaught was already roaring to life, making my stomach clench in undeniable fear.

This feeling, the one of being caught – it's stifling. Knowing I'm trapped and wedged into a corner, it's…excruciating. I closed my eyes tightly and my mind was infiltrated with the images from earlier today.

"_Mikayla…what, why are you back?" I asked, stunned when I stopped in front of my truck only to find her sitting on the hood, hunched over as if deep in thought. Her head snapped up, and she smiled. _

"_I'm here to help you." Shaking my head, I sighed. _

"_I don't want help –"Hopping off the car, she cut in. _

"_Just think about it, I could get you inside without alarming anyone. Hell, you can probably stroll right through the front door and none would be the wiser." _

I should have thought about it. I should have realized how easy it was…she built some sick sort of trust in me, one that I was poking holes through in my mind with every second Cicero's grin widened.

"_Where is he?" I whispered, glancing back at Mikayla who was following behind me, her eyes darting around before she gestured in front. _

"_In his office, upstairs. There're no more guards to sneak past, just watch out for staff though, they wander around," she explained. My grip on the handgun she'd lent me tightened. "Relax, just go, I'm right behind you." With that, I silently ascended the stairs, stopping by the door she gestured to. With a deep breath, and a steady hand, I slowly turned the handle, flinging it open. _

To be honest, I was completely blindsided. Naturally, there was the initial hesitation that Mikayla shouldn't have to help me, but then again, if it brought me closer to him, and faster, that's all that mattered.

And God knows just how close I am to him as his breath trickles over, tickling my chin, reeking of tobacco and a future stick of minty gum – one can hope.

"_Welcome!" I slammed back, right into Mikayla's rigid body as Cicero stood up from the seat behind his large desk. _

_My first instinct was to run, knowing instantly that I'd been lured right into a trap. _

_My second instinct, which quickly became my course of action was to lift the gun and unload in hopes that this could all be explained later without my mind grasping so desperately to understand. _

_But when I pulled that trigger and nothing happened, I found myself in a corner with nowhere to go. If that wasn't enough, I quickly learned that Cicero was not alone – oh no, out came four men from their own hiding places. _

_Not a single thought could coherently save me. Not when two strange pairs of hands grasped at me and a sharp strike of pain to the back of my head cleared it all away. _

I tilted my head slightly, the uncomfortable throbbing of that blow coming to life.

"Well, say something. You clearly came here for me and here I am," he prompted, rising and towering above me. Staring at the ropes that kept me to this chair, my teeth clamped together and I couldn't hold back anymore.

I gave into the need and let my gaze dart around the room, slithering over two other men, one tall and broad with a crass smile on his lips, the other, a shorter, more striking man whose attention seemed focused on staring at Cicero's every move like the man was Jesus come back to earth himself.

Then it settled on her; the lean form which was so stiff, and so empty with her back facing everyone from where she stood in front of a large window. It was as if she were simply peering out at the late evening sky, nothing out of place at all. One arm rested on the wall near the frame while her left thumb hooked into a belt loop in the most casual manner.

"Oh, that's right. You're not here for me." Cicero beamed, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him. "You're looking at her! The woman who gained your trust, who made you do every little dirty thing she wanted, and then brought you back to me when she was done." A frazzled exhale escaped right from the center of my chest as I snapped my head backwards to get away from his nauseating touch.

"Well, say something!" he yelled, and defiantly, I let my gaze rip into him, speaking my refusal to comply which urged him on to land a harsh slap across my left cheek. Standing back, he shook his head as if pitying me. "You have no clue just what you've done, have you?"

"Get it over with," I finally answered, keeping my eyes on the floor, not able to bear his look of satisfaction. Not after all I'd done to get here. All wasted time, wasted moments, wasted emotions.

"Certainly, but first, I must tell you a secret." He was filled with some perverse hilarity that made me shudder and look up. "My Mikayla didn't just decide to turn on you last minute. Oh no, it was a…thorough process." He was singing some kind of tune, it revved him up to see the disbelief flashing through my eyes and as much as I wished I could control it, I couldn't.

"Mm-hm, that's right, Miley Stewart. Everything was just one wonderful joke. But you did do me some great favors. For example, it gave us a reason to get rid of Frankie. That oaf was getting ahead of himself, always acting so rashly, it was time for him to go and what better way than have Mikayla shoot him in front of you as if she was trying to keep you alive and safe?"

That far back? If I bit down any harder, my jaw would crumble to dust. Mikayla shifted where she stood, now tucking that left hand into her pocket as if the story was just getting good for her.

"Oh boy, and that wild goose-chase! I knew killing your father would light a fire under you, I knew it would bring you back, make you angry enough to want the men who did it dead." Kneeling on one knee, Cicero patted my hand in mock-comfort as he went on. "You had no clue that Mathew Ignazio and Johnny DeFeo were both burdens in my way. That's right," he grinned. "Matty and Johnny were both planning to sell me out, that's why I gave them the job of properly killing Robbie Ray. It's like you said, Miss Miley, there's always a trail and I loved leavin' one for ya, one that was planned and took you through hell. Bet you feel like a ditz now, knowin' you did me such a favor."

"I swear if you don't kill me now you son-of-a-bitch, I'll make you regret it!" I lashed out, shaking the whole chair with a violent lurch forward. He didn't even flinch, but instead, threw his head back and laughed before picking himself up, into a standing position.

"I knew it, I knew I could make you wish you were dead, I told my men I could do it and they didn't doubt me, no they didn't doubt me, hell, even Mikayla had money on me breakin' you."

What was driving me crazy was knowing Mikayla knew. If all this was real, then she knew they were going to kill my father, and she played some sort of role, acting like she wanted me to stay back while really she was feeding me fuel to do all this, to be used from the very beginning.

"Are you finally making the connections, Miley?" Cicero crooned, letting out a shorter laugh. "Ah, yes. But I bet you don't know why Marshall over here volunteered to personally fuck you over."

"Why?" I had to know, even if it was weak to ask, I had to and this brought about another triumphant smile.

"My son, Samuel Ettore Cicero, the man you killed was her fiancé." If ever I felt dazed in my life, this would have to be the moment. "Like you said, my boy Sammy may have killed your brother by accident, so I guess he did deserve your revenge, but if that's your logic, then Marshall deserved her own too, now didn't she?" Swallowing back my disbelief, I could only gape at him.

"Let me make this very clear for you, Miley. You wanted me dead. That's it. And it would be so easy for me to kill you, really, it would, but that's not what I want. Someone who could kill my son like that? So brutally? No, death is too good for ya' so let me fill you in on your future. I had you runnin' around, murderin' like a maniac, and better yet, you wanted me to know, so you left your prints. You left your blade, my dear, you left your mark." My heart was past battering against my chest in anguish as I realized what he was getting at.

"The end you deserve…jail," I whispered and he clapped his hands together gleefully.

"The only thing that could torture you more than me breaking every bone in your body is havin' you locked away for murders I practically sent you to do myself. And sure you could tell the detectives about me, but nothin' would come of it, a little money on the matter and that's that. I don't have to do nothin' to you, Miss Stewart because you're going to rot in jail, and to top it all off, you'll have the most unpleasant night terrors about me for the rest of your pathetic, caged life."

Tugging at my hands uselessly, I grunted and felt like I'd explode from anger. Mikayla was engaged to Samuel…she never wanted to save me, she was ordered. Then it was all a game, a game in which Giovanni Cicero won without doing more than setting me up and then sitting back to watch.

He was right, I was gonna have nightmares about this for the rest of my life. It all felt so unreal and what made it worse was having Mikayla turn for the first time to see the relaxed smile on her lips, lips that had kissed me, had lied to me, had made every bad thing that happened in these past few month seem a little more possible to move past…and now, the worst is facing her and knowing I can't even spit in her face unless she got close enough.

I should have stopped to think it over, the fact that she was set to marry another man – the fact that all this was to get me for getting him.

"You look sick, Miley. Can I get you something? Water? Medicine? Maybe we could go another round if you're up for that instead," she asked, smirking.

"You fucking whore." I muttered heatedly and Cicero laughed, clapping her shoulder proudly.

"Marshall, I may have lost my son, but I will admit, you're more man than even he was. Come to think of it, you're more man than all the rest of them!" he laughed freely, tightening his hold on her shoulder while she concentrated on him. "I never thought you could seduce this one, but you did and for that, you deserve something you've been waiting for. I think you know what that is, and we'll discuss it soon as we get rid of her." Mikayla's response was only a curt nod before that emotionless gaze looked me over once more.

God, I wanted to yell, shout, and scream till my lungs ached, but even then, I'd still be in this position – I'd be nowhere.

What I wasn't expecting was for Mikayla to pull away from Cicero and step in front of me. When her left hand slid into my hair, gathering it tightly, I tensed, holding in a cry as she gripped the chair handle and tipped me backwards so I was forced to see those dark eyes she possessed.

"Funny how a few good lays and some kind words had you in the palm of my hand."

"Let go of me," I demanded, but this made the left of her mouth curl upwards into a sneer of a smile.

"Or what? You'll scream? I've heard that before and as enjoyable as it was, I think it's beneath you at the moment."

"Mikayla," Cicero called, but she didn't respond, instead, she leaned in closer.

"Come on, tell me how you feel now," she taunted and my eyes must have been on fire.

"Like I could kill you with just a thought," I snarled and that was it, she smashed her lips to mine painfully, bruising the flesh and I struggled, pulling back, but her grip was excessively tight, strong and her lips were too insistent to fight. Even when I tried to bite down, she seemed to feel it coming. It made her draw away for about two seconds to read the hatred I couldn't be bothered to hide.

"Marshall!" Cicero yelled out this time, standing frozen in his spot as if uncertain on how to stop what she was doing, but like she didn't even hear him, she curled her fingers at the base of my neck and forced me back into another lip lock.

"Get off me!" I growled against her mouth, detesting the desire that pitted in my stomach before she let go altogether, stepping away as the chair I sat on returned to its position, shaking as I settled back in place to see the satisfied expression on her face. I blinked away my arousal, but it'd been too late, she caught it and she'd taken it.

"Mikayla Marshall, there is no bit of woman in you – devil is more like it!" Cicero remarked with an air of pride, but seeing those lusty gazes from his other two men, I felt low…like I wanted to just close my eyes and die already from the shame and helplessness of it all.

"I'll kill you myself," I said. "I don't know how, don't know when, but I'll do it, Giovanni." His gaze darkened when I used his first name. "And Mikayla, you may have fooled me from the beginning, you may be more man than Cicero," two audible gasps escaped the guards as I spoke, "but don't forget, I still know you. You may have forced that kiss just now, but I've taken much more from you with my own hands, my own lips. They may revere you for being a coward, but never once was I not straight with you. While you hid behind a lie, I told you what I felt, I told you how I enjoyed murdering Ignazio and how sex with you was the best I've ever had. I've never been ashamed of the truth, I've always put it out there, even when I killed them, I had nothing to hide and you can put me in jail, but I swear on Robert Ray Stewart, I swear on Jackson Rod Stewart, and I swear on every God thought to exist in this universe that you cannot keep me there. But go ahead and try." I finished and while Mikayla's face gave way to no reaction, Cicero had a flash of uncertainty pass through him – a notion that seemed to fade away instantly as though my word was nothing more than talk.

Picking up the empty pistol Mikayla had earlier armed me with, Cicero chuckled. "Well, when you come back, at least load your gun next time." Him and the other two shared a chuckle in that while Mikayla kept an unwavering, incomprehensible gaze on me.

She may have known, but they didn't. I would not be returning with a gun next time. For Cicero, it'd be a blade, one in which every attempt would be successful unlike the blank shots from earlier and for Mikayla – my bare hands itched to reach out finish what she started. All I wanted was to throw her into every wall I could find, and I wanted to see remorse, or hate, blood or tears, something, anything but that calm look she wore.

Cicero soon left the room, and his two men seemed to be waiting.

Mikayla too headed for the door, but she stopped at the side of my chair, bending to whisper, "You talk a good game, but don't think I don't know about your lovely lawyer friend, Lilly. Should be fun meeting her."

And she exited, leaving me with the distinct feeling of horror and panic.

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**A/N**: _Well, that was drastic o.o Um…oh, right. I want everyone to be happy, so at some point, I'll find a way to include Mikayla's point of view in a way that won't interrupt the flow of the story. It may be a companion piece as someone suggested (thank you for that **DoIHaveTo**), but nothing is set in stone so we'll see how that pans out. Once again, I hope everyone had a merry Christmas and I'll be sure to update before the new year :D_


	13. Unpredictable

**Water Drops of Red**

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**LuvMRayC**: Glad to hear you like the twist :D And a cricket bat? That sounds painful LOL. Your comment is awesome and I love it so thank you! Enjoy the update [:

**magi97**: Aw xD Your comment made me all happy! Sorry for making you speechless, but I'm glad you think the last chapter was incredible. I appreciate hearing that so thank you and I hope I didn't take too long :]

**DaisyBear1547**: You've read all my stories? :o Congratulations, that's a lot of words to read, lol, and I'm more than touched that you think of me as your favorite Fanfiction writer. You're very kind [: Thank you.

**DoIHaveTo**: Merry belated Christmas, and Santa gave me your wonderful review :D Lmfao, you cracked me up big time! Thanks for the good wishes and I hope your holidays went/goes well :]

**StillSleepy**: Haha, damn. You shouted? Lol, I think it's nice that your roommate went to the trouble of reading my story as well so tell her I said thank you for that :] And no, it's your review that is pure awesomeness! Thank you and I hope you enjoy this one L:

**Mythical Mania**: Lmao, your outburst there was funny :D Ah, I'm sorry you feel like I played everyone :o That may have been my intention, but I'm still sorry nonetheless :p Thank you so much for the compliments and here it is [:

**Luz4mj1995**: You! It's been so long since I've seen you ^.^ Glad to have you back, and yes, you deserve to be played :p Lmao. In all seriousness though, thank you for the review and I hope you enjoy this :]

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**Chapter 13**: Unpredictable

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**Miley's POV**

To go and get myself killed is one thing, it's a fine thing, it's a me thing at the moment, but that threat on Lilly. The thought of Mikayla meeting the girl I grew up with, and so much as touching her, God, it made me feel like I could just stand up, and melt these ropes away with emotion.

Images of Mikayla hurting her, or worse…seducing her? It's one thing to use me, but Lilly, no, not Lilly, not the only person I could ever trust.

Now it's all my fault. Why couldn't I just grieve like a normal fucking person? Why did I have to make it my mission to get caught up with the likes of Giovanni? Why'd I ever go after Samuel? I should have just done what anyone else would have. I should have told the cops what I knew. I should have let them build up a legal case. It would have been the smallest of action, but couldn't that be enough to pacify me?

If I'd taken the easy road, my dad would still be alive. That would be better than today. Pride and my driven need for revenge, it's why I was so easy to control. They all knew it'd bring me back.

Predictable. Fucking predictable. I scorned myself deeply for the longest of time as I just sat here, left to soak in my stupidity. The two men in the room were having their own side conversation, and I'd picked up that the taller one was David and the other was called Gino.

Coming over to me was Gino, the shorter, more attractive one in comparison who seemed to idolize Giovanni. He didn't say a single word as he undid the ropes and David joined him before they both forcibly brought me to stand so they could drag me off.

"Where are we going?" I tried and though Gino seemed resolute in his silence, David was more talkative.

"It's a bit late so we're taking you to the basement, Mr. Cicero's orders are that you be locked up for the night and tomorrow morning, one of his police acquaintances will drop by to officially take you in." I nearly stumbled down the stairs when Gino tugged me carelessly, and it was then that I realized he was offended by how I spoke to Giovanni.

It actually made me chuckle and if there was anything I learned from being predictable, it was the predicting part which came in handy because Gino, with the pride and temper of a true Italian, spun around to give me a sound slap to ease his own wounded ego.

_Maybe they shouldn't have untied me completely_, I thought with an air of satisfaction as I caught his hand mid-descent. Then, with unexpected ease, I pushed him down the remainder of those stairs.

I knew David would strike, but for a second I really thought I could fling him down on over to Gino on that floor. I was mistaken because as soon as he grabbed both my arms when I turned to face him, my footing slipped while my hands took hold of his wrists, causing us to tumble backwards together.

It was a long roll down and I lost complete control over movement as I reached out for something to grab onto. My entire body smashed into the wall and letting out a huff from pain, I wriggled around and turned onto my right side to see where the other two were. David was struggling and clutching the nearby banister while Gino stayed motionless on the floor. Having only the wall to aid me, I rolled onto my back, using arm strength to sit myself up so I could brace against the solid foundation and then, pressing both palms into the wall now behind me, I slid up tactfully, but not without feeling a wrench in my lower back and neck.

David muttered something under his breath as he finally made it to his feet, and before he could fully face me, I launched my body forward, tackling him back to the floor, both of us sounding like two wounded animals since the impact was pure torment to endure.

Glancing at Gino, I feared him getting up full wind at any moment, knowing I couldn't handle it just yet. I was practically straddling David's body which was turned on its side, leaving me on top of his right hip and I waited until he turned his head before bringing my elbow down full force to the exposed temple.

I exhaled in relief as he went limp, allowing for me to roll off so I could just lay there, recovering for a moment.

_Shit, next time wait till we get on ground level_, I advised myself mentally before crawling next to Gino and turning him over. He had a pulse, but he also had an open cut on the side of his head, letting me feel assured that he'd been knocked out for a good while.

Patting him down, I located his gun hidden in an ankle holster. Frowning, I studied the silver revolver that looked ten times lighter than it actually felt, then scooted back over to David, finding the much more preferred weapon of a pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants.

I managed to stand again, stumbling at first before depositing the revolver in one of the decorative plant boxes. Surging on forward, I left the same way Mikayla had walked me in – through the barely guarded side exit.

Normally, I'd have snuck past the single guy who seemed lost in thought as he stood, arms crossed next to the door, but as my aching back would have it, I opted for a quick impact of the pistol's handle to the back of his head.

With a small thud, he collapsed and I headed around to the back gate, my eyes roaming over every inch of the property.

Lilly. And where there is Lilly, there is Oliver. There's no way I would let Giovanni or Mikayla harm two more people that I love. With that desperation carrying me on, I managed to scramble over the fence, drop back to the safety of the ground, and then make my way down the road.

The phone booth was like an answered prayer just for me and despite knowing that these things were scattered all over Manhattan, I still felt grateful as I tried dialing Lilly's number. Unfortunately, when a robotic voice requested fifty cents, I nearly whimpered knowing I had no money with me.

It didn't stop me from searching empty pockets before I wandered down to the head of the street, and entered a small Bodega. Two guys and a younger girl were working the shop and it happened to be the girl standing behind the counter.

"I need fifty cents," I stated, knowing just how foolish that sounded. She was smiling despite how her brows scrunched together.

"I can't exactly sell you…money," she tried to explain when an older guy, seemingly in his thirties came over and I must have looked pathetic because he pulled out some spare change, then placed two quarters on the counter.

And here I thought I'd have to rob this store for some coins. Playing my part diligently, I collected the money with a downcast face and said, "thank you, sir, I really appreciate this." With that moment of humility gone, I sped out and back to the phone booth, trying not to concentrate on just how degrading a moment that was.

Honestly, I'd rather have used the weapon tucked in my waistband because pity, as kind as it is, is a tough thing to swallow.

Punching the memorized numbers to Lilly's home phone, I fidgeted in the small booth.

"Come on, be home, be home, be home," I chanted the words like a mantra, my heartbeat fast and quickening.

"Hello?"

"Lilly!" I shouted, making a loud clatter as I reversed into a corner of the small space.

"What the hell, my ear!" she squealed.

"No, listen to me, I'm at a payphone and I have no money on me so we have four minutes to get on the same page. I fucked up, and I fucked up bad! Mikayla Marshall, memorize that name, Mikayla Marshall! She's the girl I let get close and she's been playing me from the beginning! Long story short, her fiancé was Sammy, the same Sammy I killed. I know, how moronic am I?" I asked with a high-pitched laugh.

"Miley – "

"Wait, listen! I'm fine, I managed to get away, but Lilly, before she left me there to rot…she said she knows about you, and I know you said you'd follow me to the bitter end, but maybe, just maybe you shouldn't. I know you and Oliver are on bad terms cause of all this, I know our friendship will never be the same, hell – I wouldn't blame him or you if you never wanted to see me again. All I can say is I'm fucking sorry and that you have to stay alive. They want predictable, don't give it to em. I know you have your aunt's rifle, go get it, grab some supplies and lock yourself in the cellar. You sit by those stairs, you watch that fucking door and if someone tries to get in, you don't think twice, you shoot. They'll count on you leavin' the house, and if they're as fast as I fear, that means you have no time, so please, get the message into Oliver's stubborn head and protect yourselves. Don't go to the cops, they're all dirty as far as I've heard. I'm going to finish what's been started and I'm coming to meet you, keep your cell with you, I promise I'll call. Promise me you'll –"

"I promise, relax, relax, breathe Miley. I'm fine, I'm at home, safe and fine and I'll stay that way. So will Oliver," she soothed as I broke out into tears.

"I can't do it, Lilly. I can't take losing you two. It's too much, please," I begged, clutching at the phone in distress.

"Stop this, Miley! Stop, you're wasting time. That bitch screwed you over and now my life is in danger so don't you go being a good for nothin' cry baby over there! It's like Robbie Ray himself would say to you, buck up and face the music. Tears are for the after party, action is for the fiesta." Choking on my tears, I let out a laugh.

"My dad never said that."

"Really? Then who – oh, it doesn't matter! I swear, we'll drink vodka and cry like seventeen year old girls who've had their first heartbreak. But you have got to dry your tears. This isn't your life, Miley. This will just be a bad memory, so hurry up and get past it. I know you can." Nodding, I straightened up.

"You know that saying? Behind every great man, there's an even greater woman?" I asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm your great woman," she retorted.

"You are…great, you know."

"Listen, I know this Mikayla chick really messed you up, and you're feeling pathetic, but no, I will not be your rebound." I let out a breathless laugh, rolling my eyes.

"Don't worry, I haven't fallen on such hard times as to give you a second glance."

"Always the charmer, aren't you?"

"Lilly?"

"I know, time's almost up. I'll run her name for you though," she promised.

"No, just get to the cellar first, once you're safe – "

"I know, I can still access the database from my personal laptop, come on, Miley, stop worrying. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I know you can."

'_Please add an additional fifty cents for another four minutes or your call will be disconnected.'_

"I'll see you soon," she murmured.

"Soon," I agreed, hanging the phone back on its receiver.

I could feel so much just building up inside me. More than anger, more than sorrow, more than fear. Leaving the booth, I trudged down the street, trying to figure out exactly where I was. A sign told me I was on Baxter, but not recognizing the name, I continued on until spotting a yellow taxicab parking a few feet away. Walking up, a white, older man, maybe in his forties stepped out, dropping a cigarette on the ground as he shut the car door, then turned to see me heading over.

"Hey," I greeted with a small wave. He squinted, offering a smile.

"Need help with something?"

"Yeah, uh, you know how to get to Chambers street from here?" Immediately his gaze darted around the road as if deciphering where exactly we were.

"Oh yeah, well, this Baxter so you gotta head straight down this road, ahead you'll see Walker Street, go up and turn left on Broadway and soon enough you'll find Chambers – then just make a right to keep on it." I could find my way to Mikayla's house from there so that was enough for now, but glancing back from where I came, my curiosity was piqued.

"Also, how far is Mulberry Street from here." The taxi driver studied his shoes with a frown.

"Ah, 'bout less than 5 minutes if you're walking, but uh, word of advice, miss: keep away from Mulberry, they don't call it slaughterhouse street for nothing." Chuckling, I understood the sentiment completely.

"Appreciate that, thanks and have a good evening," I wished politely and for the first time, he looked directly at me.

"You're wel – wait…you, you're that girl from the news!" Crap.

"Hey, just calm down – "

"Oh, I am calm. I didn't see anything." Covering both of his eyes, he shook his head.

If it were any other day, I might have found this a little funny, but hearing the fright in his voice as he continued to hide his face just forced me to leave.

"Thanks anyways." I muttered before finding myself maneuvering through the busier streets on Broadway. It took about a good twenty minutes before landing on Chambers, then recalling the way down to the more residential area, I made it to my destination.

My runaway thoughts of finding Mikayla before she could hurt Lilly only ceased when I realized I was on her street, not too far from her house. I had half a mind to just storm in there, kick the door open and show her that this time, I wouldn't hold anything back.

And I just about did what I wanted to. I wasn't loud, but I wasn't silent either when I opened her gate. Instead of kicking the door in however, I headed for the back. That way I could get in through the rear.

Like magic, the gun stowed away in my waistband appeared in my tight grip and with enough forethought, I slid out the clip to confirm it was loaded. Snapping it back in place, I decided I'd shoot through any locks and see if she was here or not, but that never had to happen.

Of all the ways I thought I'd find her, this was not it – out in the open, sitting on the steps of the house's back porch.

Frozen in place and hidden at the side of her house, I just stared, waiting for her to look up and see me or feel my presence which seemed to be a talent of hers, but nothing.

She just sat there. Her boots looked dustier; dirtier than before – she'd changed into tattered old jeans and a gray outer shirt hung open while a black tank-top clung to her thin frame, hinting that perhaps she was sweating. Even her breathing was ragged and then I noticed the Colt hanging loosely in her left hand that was slung over a bent knee.

Agitation – never did I think I'd see her of all people in this state of mind. Her free hand burrowed into her hair and a shudder ran through her. Despite everything, panic hit me and I don't know why. I guess I'd never seen someone who appeared perfectly together look so…torn.

Then it escaped her. "No bit of woman in you!" It was a low snarl that took me off guard.

That's what Giovanni said…he called her a – "Devil," Mikayla muttered, like the word held so much meaning. "More man than Cicero," she whispered and I recognized my own words. "More man than all of them, not a bit of woman in you," she repeated and we both flinched when an obnoxious banging at her front door startled the quiet moment. Not bothering to hide her piece, she stood, tilting her neck slowly, but when the knocking sounded again, she kicked her own back door wide open, a display of pure anger bursting through her.

Sneaking up the few steps, I watched discreetly and the parallel of this door to the front, however constricting, gave me a good enough view to recognize that Gino and David were her visitors. Mikayla's movements slowed to a practiced ease as she allowed both men in, leading them back towards me.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, but stayed where I was, hoping to God that she didn't bring them outside since it'd now be three to one, and really, I wanted to deal with her alone, especially after what I just saw.

Luckily, she only brought them to the kitchen. Peering in again, I watched as she stopped near the counter, and Gino had a wary eye on her Colt while David jumped into an explanation.

"I know we're not supposed to ever come here –"

"Then why did you?" Mikayla questioned in a low, challenging tone that seemed to stun him into silence.

Gino then tried to take over. "Listen," he said in a serious voice, "We're here as a courtesy to you, Marshall."

"A courtesy to me?" she asked and I could see the way her eyes narrowed when she turned to look at them as though this were a standoff. "This is my home, my private fucking home."

"Your home is with the family!" Gino snapped, regret instant in his countenance when Mikayla lifted a brow and lazily scratched her chin.

"Let's just relax," David piped in, putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder who only shrugged it off.

"There are rules for a reason." Mikayla murmured and it seemed like she was reverting into herself for a second. "And when you break the rules, they break you," she concluded simply, looking up with a harsh frown.

"Marshall, the only reason we – "

"I don't care," she stated.

"But – "

"I don't care," she repeated slowly. "Did the boss say you could come here?"

"We tried to call him –"

"So, that's a no?" Mikayla prompted and David's shoulders slumped but Gino seemed to have had enough of the run around.

"The Stewart girl attacked us and got away! The only reason we came here was to warn _you_ because _you_ fucked her over!" Rather than react with concern, Mikayla focused on Gino closely and…smiled.

A low chuckle escaped her and she tapped the side of her forehead. "She give you that nasty bruise?" Mikayla asked.

Gino scowled and forced a nod. "Yeah."

Her gaze flitted over to David who I couldn't see clearly from the angle I was in. "And that? She give you that?"

"Yes, but she's just as hurt. We had a tumble down the second floor stairs, and if her back is as messed up as mine – " In one fluid motion, Mikayla switched the safety off of her gun and aimed it towards David's head. On reflex, David reached for his own, but found it gone since I have it and Gino stood in disbelief, just frozen, probably already aware his gun was removed.

"Ma – Marshall, what're you doin'?" David stuttered.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head.

"You lose Miley, then come here without Cicero knowing? When you two don't go back, what's he going to think?" I could hear both men swallow in fear at the ruthless edge to her voice. "He's going to think of two possible things. One: you failed to do your job, then ran away, or two: you crossed him and helped her escape."

"I would never cross Cicero!" Gino shouted heatedly.

"Well, I would!" Mikayla snarled back, making them both jump at the intensity of her outburst. "That's the difference. You follow orders like dogs, hell you can't even do the job right half the time, but me? I make every assignment look good whether it went right or not. Do you know how many times I've had to get up with a knife in my body, pull it out and still chase down some filthy lowlife who thinks they can outsmart me simply because I'm not a man? Or how about being tied down and beaten within an inch of your life and the only escape is staying conscious in spite of the pain to use a piece of blunt wood and cut through? Better yet, have you lost a whole shipment and been forced to run seven miles, cut through a forest at 2 a.m., hearing wild animals howling or roaring after you and when you finally get out, it's only to see a grenade being tossed your way? Have you ever felt an open grenade in the palm of your hand and watch it explode 3 seconds after you've tossed it? Have you felt that kind of heat that hurls you back and better yet, have you been able to stand afterwards and keep chasing after a shipment, then catch up and take out 12 men all armed with M-4 Carbines? So, when I go through shit like that, but bring home the merchandise and don't speak a word to my boss about what I went through to get it, it pisses me off that guys like you are foolish enough to lose a girl and your first thought is to bring your troubles to me."

"Marshall, I – " Gino tried, but she turned the Colt on him.

"No. You're not nothin'. You're incompetent shit. You have a choice. Stand here for five more seconds and eat a bullet or walk through the door on my left." To her left was a room I'd never even been in nor did I notice, but the entrance was small and with little hesitation, Gino and David shakily walked towards it, pushing it open and Mikayla for her part simply locked them inside.

Pulling open a small panel nearby, she flipped a switch, then set her gun down once she reached the kitchen counter again. My brows lifted when I heard two loud thumps come from behind the mysterious door and Mikayla hunched over, looking ready to pass out.

For the first time, my eyes caught sight of something much more interesting than the exchange I just witnessed between her and those two morons – it was the near empty bottle of Jack Daniels about an arm's length away from her.

And it hit me – _Mikayla Marshall is drunk._

She gripped the edge of the counter, then stilled completely as if realizing something – in a low growl, she asked, "how long have you been here, Stewart?"

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**A/N**: _Happy New Year! I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying themselves. I'm not into resolutions because I don't think a new year will make a new me or you, but so long as you're being the best version of you, then really, what's left? There's always room for improvement, but rather than zero in on that, just enjoy all the good there is about yourself :] You have my love, my appreciation, and my best wishes. Thank you for those who've stuck with me, thank you to those who read even if they don't review, and thank you to those who reach out to me personally._


	14. Twisted

**Water Drops of Red**

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**LuvMRayC**: Oh man, I messed up. You rarely give reviews and then I go and make you wait forever. I hope you forgive me and all that praise means so much to me. Just thank you and I hope that if you read this update, you're pleased with it.

**DemenaLuvr**: I know exactly what you mean by college stress and I'm flattered that you can become part of my stories to forget it all. You apologized for not reviewing and I apologize for not writing. I'm gonna try to make that change and I hope everything is alright with you now, especially in terms of your girlfriend.

**DoIHaveTo**: Oh my god. I'm reading your review, blushing and laughing so hard. I love you too and if you asked to marry me, I would definitely consider it, lol. Also, I want to thank you for checking in with me and I'm sure that when you said you hoped for updates soon, you meant sooner. I hope I didn't make you wait too long – well, I'm sure I did, but I apologize and hope for forgiveness. You're probably the sweetest reviewer I know, lol.

**bringmethesixers**: Thank you and sorry that I made you wait. Enjoy if you're still reading.

**Imgto**: Lol, aw. I made you squeal? Thanks so much and enjoy.

**Luz4mj1995**: Lmao, who wants to be the star of their own life, huh? More like the writer, lol. That'd be epic. Anyways, hope your life is on the better side of things now, it's been a while and I miss your nuttiness, haha. Enjoy the update if you're still with me.

**P.I.C. - Partner in Crime**: Your review was funny and I do plan to include Mikayla's POV at the end. It's okay that you haven't reviewed since I'm not one to complain being that I took forever to update. Thanks for the feedback though.

**Mythical Mania: **Lol, I love your excitement and I'm so sorry to have left you hanging. Thank you so much for the compliment, I really do take it to heart. Enjoy this update if you're reading still.

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**A/N**: It's been too long.

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**Chapter 14**: Twisted

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**Recap**:

And it hit me – _Mikayla Marshall is drunk._

She gripped the edge of the counter, then stilled completely as if realizing something – in a low growl, she asked, "how long have you been here, Stewart?"

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**Miley's POV**

"Long enough to wonder whether I still hate you, want to kill you, or just plain pity you," I replied, stepping out from behind the house and into her doorway.

"You know what drives me wild about you, Miley?" she asked, straightening completely as she turned to face me. "You never fail to surprise me. I thought I wouldn't see you until tomorrow morning, yet here you are, throwing me off like you always do."

"Like I always do?" I repeated, disliking whatever game this was. "I thought it was you and Cicero who played me, who thought me to be so predictable that it was no big deal to have me kill like some mafia puppet hit-man and then head towards my own jail cell." Walking away from the kitchen counter, Mikayla moved towards the small table a few feet from me before pulling out a chair.

As if offering, she gestured to it, but a flashback of her looming over me in Cicero's office had my grip tighten around this gun's handle before I lunged forward, forcing her down into the seat so that my mimicked position over her could bring back a sense of control.

My gaze searched the room, falling on her Colt, carelessly left on the counter and I met her humored eyes to see the slight confusion before she glanced at the gun as well and let out an abrupt laugh.

"Oh Miley, never." She assured me, sounding so seriously amused. "Never would I need my gun when I'm with you."

"Are you taunting me?" I asked, fisting her shirt so I could pull her closer, nearly nose-to-nose with me, but with a frown, Mikayla seemed to relax despite my hold on her while she stared up at me with a lost-like expression; she was contemplating something and I liked that she couldn't mask her thought-process being that she was intoxicated.

"When a man reaches for his gun, what does that tell you, Miley?" Unsure, my head tilted slightly. "It means he's scared. A gun is more than a weapon, it's a shield – something to protect yourself with and whenever I'm with you, I don't need that. I don't need to be protected, I'm safe, free of danger."

"I don't understand you, at all," I whispered.

"You're not holding that gun because you're scared of me, Miley. You're holding it because you're scared of what I make you feel."

"I won't feel anything for someone who has fucked me over."

"Good. I wouldn't want you to." Taking a deep breath, I stared at her long and hard. Her brown eyes were too sure for me to ever feel right about hurting her. There was more and though I didn't want to hear it, I didn't want to hide from it either.

I took a step away, slipping the gun into the back of my waistband. Mikayla stood and took hold of my jacket, pleading eyes turned on me.

_When someone lies or more importantly, hides the truth, isn't up to the other to notice? To figure it out before everything is completely ruined?_

I blinked rapidly as her words came rocketing back into my mind. What she meant by it – why she said it – the same pleading tone that now matched her gaze.

"This evening...everything with Cicero...your mask," I stated, making sense of it.

"You remember that," she murmured, smiling tightly.

"Lie to me," I requested and puzzled, Mikayla let go of me.

"What?"

"Lie to me," I repeated. "Wear your mask and lie to me." The confused wrinkling of her forehead disappeared as she understood what I meant.

"I knew Cicero was going to kill your dad," she said icily and I swallowed because it struck me that Mikayla Marshall knows just how to lie, but she stutters with the truth.

"What else?" Seemingly stunned herself, Mikayla made an odd face, one that had me gripping her forearms to pull her closer, making her continue.

"Well, when I took you to Cicero's office, I didn't feel like I failed you and I didn't want to throw myself out his window – I didn't hate myself for betraying your trust."

"Go on," I urged and Mikayla chuckled in disbelief.

"The whole time I was with you, it was because Cicero wanted it and not once did I break his direct orders to see you on my own. Not once did I lie straight to his face just so I could keep you safe for one more night, not once did I murder a man who was sent to kill you, then say it was your doing."

"Mikayla..."

"I don't love you," she rushed out, closing her eyes and inhaling. "I'm not afraid of you leaving me and you're not the first person to make me think there's more to the world than assignments and violence. You don't make me want to cry sometimes just because you're not there."

"You can stop lying now," I said, pulling away.

"Then let's try the truth," she practically snapped, refusing to let me go. "Cicero is the one who played you. You were never his puppet to begin with, he twisted everything because you did scare him when you killed Matty and Johnny. When I saved your life, I didn't know Cicero planned to let you live just so you could see your father murdered. I didn't know until you called me and when you came back, I stayed silent. I was only engaged to Sam for my personal gain, I never cared for him, but I had to play vengeful lover to convince Giovanni of my commitment to the mafia. Sam was my key in and you did me a favor by killing him. Cicero thought that after seeing your father die and your whole world destroyed, he could then be content with killing you and that's when I found out. When you called me. I was stunned, Miley and I tracked down two other guys Cicero sent out so that's why I know about Lilly. She was the last one on Cicero's list. I took care of them, stopped them before they located and finished her off, then I told Cicero that our men were found dead, that you did it and you vanished with her."

"Lilly–"

"I have a friend watching over her, no one can touch her or that guy she's with, I promise."

"But, why?"

"Because I'm not the villian, I just wear the mask and I hate every moment of this – ever since I realized my feelings for you, I've felt suffocated. When I came home, I wanted to drink until I passed out, I wanted to make myself feel pain and I wanted to get on my knees and beg you to trust me and not fall for the person I've been pretending to be because it scares me how easy it is to be that sick, cold, unreadable...devil," she said, using the same word from earlier. "It's not supposed to get to me, but you get to me and that's been the hardest to lie about."

"I can't believe you saved her, but then why did you say her name when you left me there?"

"To motivate you, I guess. I wanted you to hate me enough, to be scared enough, to have the incentive to escape."

"Well, you succeeded," I admitted.

"More than. I'm surprised you slipped Gino and David so quickly."

"Well, Gino's a hothead like me so he was predictable – wait, why did you lock them in there?" I asked, pointing to the small door. Mikayla smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"It's basically a closet and uh, I had it made specially to gas any intruders – makes it easier to deal with when they're out cold."

"You told them you would cross Cicero, is that true?"

"Miley, I already have and it won't be long before I make that known."

"What do you mean, make it known?"

"You'll find out later." Nodding, I figured Mikayla couldn't be as honest as I wanted her to be.

"I don't love you, either," I said grimly after a moment and she rolled her eyes.

"Twitch, you haven't practiced lying much, have you?"

"Stop reading my tells and let go of me."

"I feel like you're lodged within me, Miley. I won't make you stay, but I can't promise not to follow."

"I was hoping for that sort of reaction because when Cicero is dead, I'll need someone to visit me in jail – bring me dirty magazines and cookies," I joked, making her smile.

"Oh, I can definitely do better than dirty magazines and baked goods," she murmured, leaning into me until I could feel her breath against my lips. "How's dry-sex and cold pizza sound?"

"Cold pizza in prison?"

"Who's talking about prison? There's cold pizza in my fridge right now," she mumbled, backing me up against the kitchen table.

"So that means – " A low moan escaped me when quick hands took hold of my waist, pulling me closer before her hips rocked into mine. "Dry-sex now," I concluded, wrapping one arm around her neck, the other resting on the table for balance as her lips met mine. Kissing back, I tried to keep steady but the moment her center hit mine, I gave in, falling back on the table with my legs tight around her waist. "Don't – "

"I won't," she groaned, her tongue making a trail down my neck to the center of my throat as I arched back.

A white blaze of tightening approached faster than I was ready for as her body worked with my own which writhed and matched every move she offered. Without warning, Mikayla tugged me into a sitting position, still working her hips into mine as she kissed me with forceful need that dazed me into a frenzy against her.

"I love being under you," I managed to say before losing myself and that seemed to throw her into a haze of her own with tight-lipped curses slipping from her lips and eyelids squeezed shut as she shook above me, slowing each thrust to a calculated rhythm before falling apart and shuddering.

"You really – know how – to affect me," she said, sighing into my hair and I smiled, slipping a hand underneath her shirt to feel the warm skin.

Her arms slid into a lovers hold around me and I didn't fight it.

"As twisted as all this is, I'm glad I met you, glad I kissed you, glad I found you," I whispered.

"Some first-date, huh? You kill my supposed fiance and I inject you with anesthesia."

"Well, at least I called you afterwards, huh?"

"Oh yeah, most girls never call," Mikayla said straight-faced before we both let out breathless laughs and embraced fiercely because it became apparent just how absurd all of this was, yet how important, because without it, we may not have been here, wrapped up in such misery and passion.

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**A/N**: _I've missed writing. I've missed you all and I'm sorry. _


	15. Fragments

**Water Drops of Red**

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**DaisyBear1547**: Oh god, your review just has me beaming. Thank you so much. I'm glad you stuck with the story all this time; that's very considerate of you. I'll be updating more often because that's what matters. Once again, thank you and enjoy the update L:

**DoIHaveTo**: LOL. I died reading your review. Since when were we married and a divorce? :O No, come on, don't do this! I won't sign the papers! Haha. I really, truly am sorry for my absence, but I'll try my best to make this work and not leave you hanging again. A chapter with just two words, huh? I'll consider it, lol. I hope you're out of all that emotional turmoil now and seriously, you're just wonderful to me. Thank you.

**DemenaLuvr**: Oh man, your spring-break started a week before mine. I have a paper due tonight, then spring-break begins for me. As for you being excited for my update, I take that as a serious compliment and you cannot know how happy your reviews makes me, I just smile and feel all bubbly, lol. On another note, I'm sorry about things with your girlfriend. It seems a bit unfair, but hopefully, you'll get to meet one of those new, amazing people she talked about L: To be honest, I miss writing Mikiley so to hell with my priorities, happiness first, right? Lol [: Hope the week wasn't too long and enjoy this one.

**Raven**: LOL, woot for that. Thank you for the fresh greeting. :]

**P.I.C**: Thank you and no, that was not the end. Whenever I write an ending to my stories, it will say _"The End"_ and I'll probably have a more in depth author's note signaling the story's completion. Trust me, you'll know when it's over, I won't make it a mystery in that sense. [:

**Mythical Mania**: I love the rhyming there, and that's so sweet of you. Thank you and I won't forget about Never Letting Go. I plan to revive it soon and carry it out to the end. By the way, I really appreciate the constant reviews you give to all my work, I'm grateful you take the time. :]

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**Chapter 15**: Fragments

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**Miley's POV**

I thought that everyone I loved had a death sentence set. I thought I was soon to go. I thought I was ready to go, whether to a societal death in prison or a literal one leading to my grave. And then there's the damn obstacles that just drop down from nowhere. I guess that she's not such a surprise when I really consider it.

From our first meeting to right now, nearly every single one has been with us wanting something more. Even when for a few hours, I hated her, I still knew I'd never be able to do much about it because no matter how much she can possibly do to hurt me, it doesn't seem to register. All I want is to be close.

I haven't felt like this ever. Not with anyone. My first boyfriend, my last boyfriend, the crushes I've had, even the one heartbreak that I thought was a disaster – none of them compare to this, to simply lying next to her. I can feel more anguish, more excitement, more need, more everything.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

Her warm breath against my ear. Her arms enveloped around me. The way her hair tickles my bare skin. The smooth leg that's draped over mine. The lips that constantly brush against my cheek.

"I'm thinking about my life."

"How screwed up it is?" she guessed, her chin softly resting against my shoulder.

"No, how beautiful you are," I replied, shifting to hold her closer and meet that gentle gaze. I realized I've now implied that she's my life and I see the storm behind brown eyes which make her so completely vulnerable.

And because she's sober this time, because I still can read her thoughts through the flittering emotions of these orbs, I know she's letting me.

"Mikayla, share yourself with me," I urged and I could see she was relenting. "Anything, I just want to know."

"Orphan," was the slow word that she offered. "Um, both my parents died when I was seven. First my dad, then a few hours later, my mom. I was an only child so…I had no one with me."

"How did they die?" I asked, not voicing my apologies because she wouldn't have use for them.

"Dad, shot to death. Mom –" Her jaw tightened and worked slowly, her eyes leaving mine as she tried to breathe. "I'm sorry." Her voice cracked. "I've never told anyone. I'm not used to this." I could feel the way she trembled and if my pain had consumed me, hers had emptied her.

"Where were you when it happened?"

"My mom – she knew. She uh, she took me into our basement, put me into this small room and told me not to come out no matter what I heard."

"Mikayla, please tell me –"

"I can't tell you I listened. I wish I did. I wish I stayed where she put me. Or at least had the courage to fight for her." Mikayla tried to revert to that stoic persona, but gripping her face, I let her see the tears that I hadn't realized I was shedding and she couldn't hold back anymore.

I almost saw the seven year old girl who'd been locked away this whole time as Mikayla wept and buried her face into the contour of my neck. All she could do was apologize and tell the hidden story in fragments. "They raped her – these men – they killed my dad – beat her – she never even tried to fight – I watched, everything – I couldn't move – and – they, they left – everything was red, but I was alive – I laid with her – naked, bruised, lifeless – she wouldn't wake up and he was gone too, my dad – they just were gone and I was left."

"Shh, stop, shh –"

"No, no. I, the cops came and they took me away from her. I was put into therapy and they wouldn't let me go, the doctors kept saying I was too traumatized."

"Mikayla –"

"I kept having nightmares and if anyone tried to wake me up, I'd go ballistic on them. I once bit into a nurse so bad she passed out and all I remember was the needle they used on me." Mikayla paused to take a calming breath. "Anesthetics – I was in love with them from the first meeting. I remembered absolutely nothing when they were in my system. I just, I became terrible. I would wait for the right moment and throw a fit until security or the nurses had no choice but to inject me because for those few hours, I could finally sleep and be blank to my reality."

"You were addicted?" I asked, a little stunned at this turn.

"I guess so. Eventually though, one of the psychologists realized why I was throwing so many fits. He offered to let me have the anesthesia if I would tell him what I witnessed. When I tried, I couldn't. He had me restrained so even if I did rage, there was no need to give me the injections."

"What happened then?"

"I realized that I couldn't stay there if I wanted to get what I needed. After weeks of agonizing about it, I forced myself to write what happened out in the journal they gave me. I offered it to the doctor and he began to try and help me. But the process was too slow so I behaved well until they trusted me and once I was given leeway, I stole a syringe from a nurse while she gave me my monthly check-up. I uh, when my guard came to lock me in for the night, I had laid myself out on the floor and he ran over to me to check my pulse. That's when I took him by surprise, stuck the needle in his neck and let the anesthetic take over. After that, I stole his keys and escaped."

"Where'd you go?"

"Home, but no one was there – just a For Sale sign," she said, sighing. "I don't want to tell you the rest, not yet because, I lived a really shitty life, Miley and I'm not ready to relive it."

"How'd you get caught up with Cicero then?"

"Giovanni was my dad's friend. Remember when I told you I was an anesthesiologist; that I worked in a research facility?"

"Yeah."

"It's true. I did, then I joined the army – after a year, I left and found a research position – I guess I was always infatuated with anything that could put someone in a different state of consciousness, that could let you live without having to think or really be alive. So after all this back and forth with what I needed to do with my life, I sort of came upon Giovanni and soon enough, Sam took a liking to me and I was engaged."

"You said your engagement was for personal gain."

"Yes, but Miley…I can't – won't talk about this right now." Pausing, I took a moment to realize everything she did share with me and though there's a whole missing block of her life, I decided I didn't need to know until it came out on its own.

Just considering the way she broke a few moments ago to how calm she was now, I knew I didn't want to see that side of her so quickly again. It scared me to find how unfortunate her own fate had been and before I could accept hers, I had to fight mine.

But as I closed my eyes and yielded to sleep, her voice roused me slightly. "You're not alone," she whispered. "Neither am I."

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"I can't say I'm surprised they would cross us like that. Gino showed promise, but maybe it was David's persuasion to save her. David doesn't have the stomach for the kind of justice our family believes in."

Opening my eyes, I looked over to Mikayla who was half dressed in black slacks, a matching undershirt and gray socks. Holding the cell-phone to her ear, she went through the clothes hanging in her closet, making the selection of a crisp blue button-up.

"Well, it won't be easy to lure Miley back to us since she knows who I really am now," Mikayla said in a convincing tone as she glanced back at me, smiling mischievously. Hanging her shirt on the closet's door handle, she came over while I sat up, holding the sheets to my naked body.

I could hear Cicero's deep voice on the other end as Mikayla leaned down, kissing my lips softly, noiselessly, shamelessly. She pulled at the sheets that protected me and her free hand began at my cheek, slowly caressing downwards, heating my skin as it traveled.

"Don't worry, I'll find Gino and David and you'll have both of them, dead or alive. As for Miley, I'll deal with her," Mikayla promised, making my mouth part as her hand cupped me firmly. "Ciao, Gio," she said before disconnecting and setting her phone on the nightstand.

"Deal with me, huh?" I teased, loving the feel of her slender fingers holding me so gently, yet threatening to torture me all the same. Sliding her hand up to rest at my stomach and relish in the smooth skin, she smiled again.

"I think I dealt with you plenty last night." Flashes of my night with her followed by those raw admittances came back to me.

"Are you leaving now?" I asked.

"Mhm," she replied, letting out a low sigh as she placed kisses along my neck, pausing to look into my eyes every few moments before her head dipped down.

"What are you doing?"

"Memorizing," she mumbled before stepping away completely to stare at me. Her eyes were full of lust and awe at the sight of me, making my blood rush, desire warming me.

Sitting up at the edge of the bed, I gripped the bottom of her shirt, pulling her to lean over me. "Where are you going?" I asked, placing kisses of my own along her throat.

"Mm, you and I," she began, head tipping back to welcome me. "Are shackled to our pasts and the only way we can be free for each other is to meet when it's all over – and if we both make it, then maybe there's more than a mask of lies and a heart of hate to the two of us." Pausing, I stopped to look at her.

"Let me guess, I'm the heart of hate."

"Sure are, and how can I have it when it's already brimming over for him?" she asked. Her lips then pressed to mine, almost fiercely before she pulled back. "I've underestimated you for so long, Miley. I've put myself in your way, stopping you from achieving your goal because you were interfering with mine. But now, I've found a way for both of us and that means this. Your truck's parked out front. Keys are on the mantel."

"I don't understand."

"Giovanni knows you're coming for him so the mansion's on lockdown. He also wants me to play bodyguard tonight until you're caught, so try not to shoot me," she teased, grinning.

Returing to her former task, I watched as she slid into the button-up, tucking it neatly inside of her pants. As I mulled over my options, she fixed a sleek leather belt into place, then removed her stylish black vest from the closet, slipping it on, over her deep blue shirt, making for quite the appearance.

"Do you always dress so nicely?" I asked and with a wry smile, she shrugged stiffly.

"If you knew me as a teenager and saw the rags I had on, would you still be so attracted to me?"

Swallowing, I stood up, cloaking myself with the thin sheets and standing in front of her, I fixed the collar of her shirt, giving Mikayla a serious onceover.

"They say it's the clothes that make the man." I could feel the tension from her in waves. "But then again, you're no man, Mikayla," I said, seeing a spark come back to those eyes.

"I'm really glad you said that," she murmured, kissing me one last time, slowly, softly. "Oh, I brought your duffle bag in. If you need a shower, your things are by the door and feel free to raid my stuff," she offered as she found a pair of dress-boots, putting them on and lacing them neatly to complete her outfit.

"If anything, I'm only going after him for one reason now," I stated. "You look really sexy in action." Smirking, Mikayla retrieved her cell-phone from the stand and slid it into her pocket.

"If we're playing the honesty game here, you with that shotgun, taking men out left and right, major turn on." I laughed when Mikayla shivered slightly as if actually conjuring up the image in her mind, then reacting to it. Halting at the door, she chuckled and said more seriously, "Whatever happens tonight, Miley, make a mess of it."

All I could think to say was, "I probably will."

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**A/N**: _Spring-break means an update soon. L:_


	16. Blinded

**Water Drops of Red**

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**Raven**: Your wait is over and thank you for the review [:

**DemenaLuvr**: I understand how much it takes for a reader to actually review here on Fanfiction, that's why I appreciate it so much and the fact that you keep coming back to read my stories, there's no real way to thank you fully for reaching out and leaving such thoughtful responses for me. Also, after a break-up, it usually is a good idea to stay single and just explore your own feelings and such first. L: I will do my best for your heart and I hope I didn't take too long with this update. Enjoy it [:

**LuvMRayC**: Oh my god, your review has me beaming :D Thank you so much for all those compliments, really. Enjoy this one :]

**DoIHaveTo**: Aw, you're sweet xD And I'm certain that you're one of the few that can say that, lol. I won't do a two word chapter, but this one's pretty long so that should cover things [: Oh man, you make me sound terrible and I promise I won't let you fall :p I'll always come back in time to catch you, lmao.

**Gunner3284**: LOL, lovely to see a friendly name again and after reading your review I made sure to fulfill all your requests. Hope you enjoy it. [:

**Mythical Mania**: Well then, I will make sure to finish it to avoid keeping you and others hanging. And thanks so much for saying so many nice things. I'm grateful for a reviewer like you :] Gunfire, blood, and awesomeness, lol xD

**Eve**: Lol, thank you and here you are [:

**Magi97**: Wow, your mom took away the internet? I didn't have my internet for a day and I nearly went insane, LOL. Yeah, cold pizza and dry-sex. Never fails, LMAO xD

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**A/N**: Due to unforeseen technical difficulties, this chapter has arrived late. However, it allowed me time to add more so it worked out [:

*****Also, for those of you who really do want the Mikayla POV piece, I set up a poll since I'm unsure of how to carry out. If you're up for it, go to my profile and it will be right at the top. No votes mean a lost me and no Mikayla piece so the votes will have it, lol. [=

_Now, onto the drama!_

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**Chapter 16**: Blinded

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**Miley's POV**

It'd been over two hours since Mikayla left to do her job. In that time, I had indeed raided her kitchen, coming up with a PB&J sandwich and a glass of iced apple juice to wash it down. I'd showered and pulled on a pair of old jeans, a simple tee and a black jacket to match.

As I downed the last of my drink, my fingers lingered over the telephone in Mikayla's living room. My eyes flitted from phone to car keys and finally, I decided to make the call.

"Hello," Lilly greeted warily after the second ring.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, Oli and I are still in the basement, so far so good."

"Let me speak to her," I heard Oliver request and by the pause, I knew Lilly was debating it.

"It's fine. Give him the phone," I offered. After a small shuffle, I was greeted by his familiar voice.

"What the hell have you been thinking?!" he snapped, making me wince.

"I'm sorry you had to be involved, I didn't want you and Lilly to get caught up in this."

"Well, we are. So what now? Cause of your vendetta, the mafia wants our lives? You should have had the decency to warn us, Miley. At least I could have prepared for this, but no, you had to jump right into harm's way, like you always do and we just tag along, isn't that right?"

"Oli –"

"No, you listen to me. Ever since we met, I've admired how spontaneous you were. You made everything exciting, but there was always a fine line for you. Between excitement and danger. For years Lilly and I followed you along that line and now, now you decide after so many years, even after we've been apart, now you want to drag us past the line with you? No, that's not fair. The Miley I know would have never done that to me, or Lilly. She would have never went after cold-blooded killers. For God's sake, she would have never picked up a gun or knife and massacred men in public! You're a murderer, Miley. I saw the news, it's like you're not you anymore and I can't be okay with that."

"I never asked for your approval, Oliver. I am sorry that you and Lilly got caught up because of me, but you're safe and this will be over soon. I'll be behind bars most likely and this murderer will never drag you past the line again." Even as I used the most emotionless voice I could muster, my eyes pricked with tears as I disconnected the phone, inhaling deeply.

Grabbing the keys off the mantel, I pulled on my worn-out boots and headed for the front door, becoming paralyzed with uncertainty. I couldn't do it this way and on cue, the phone rang, jolting my attention. Picking it up, I stayed silent in case it was someone for Mikayla.

"Mile?" Lilly called out.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Blame Oliver's outburst on me. We had a fight and you didn't deserve that. Truth is, when it comes to your dad, this feels right, Miley. When my father was in New York, working all the time, barely calling me for holidays and birthdays…your dad treated me like a daughter. He never complained when I ate from your fridge, he never told me I wasn't welcome there, in fact, I can remember the multiple moments when your dad would hug me and tell me that I was wonderful, or smart, or talented. He even let me live with you all to finish out high school when my mom got her promotion and left Malibu. And Jackson, God, he was a walking garbage can at times, but he was also the sweetest, most dependable when it counted. He and Oliver were so close that Oliver can't accept how Jackson was taken from us. That's why he's lashing out at you, Miley. He's not afraid of what you've been doing and how you've changed, it's just that we lost two Stewarts already and I don't think we can handle a third."

"We love you, Miley," she continued as I held onto her words. "And more than anyone, I accept the actions you have taken. I accept your anger and hate and need for justice. If someone had taken my mother from me, who knows, I might react the same way. But Robbie and Jackson were my family too, that's why I can't bring myself to stop you. Because more than anything, I want to help you. If all the help you need is classified information, then fine, I'll do what my abilities allow me. And I hope that you can do the rest because I swear, Miley. If you die, I'm gonna find you in Hell and kill you again myself." Chuckling, I nodded at the threat.

"You know, all this time, I was able to keep going because I thought I had nothing to live for. And now I have too much. I forgot what's important, Lilly. But I can't let him go. I can't rest until he's suffered. If the cops can't get him, then someone has to. I know Oliver is caught up in how I've been and the way I've killed, but the men I killed were only human by label, not by heart. I'm sorry for where I'm heading and I'm sorry for getting you both caught with my pain and my hate, but 'til I make Giovanni truly sorry for what he's done, I will never be able to rest."

"You have nothing to apologize to me for. I just want this over with, Miley. I want to come to New York and see you and know that everything is going to be fine again."

"I can't promise that it will be. All I know is that if I don't kill him, it'll only be because he killed me. But I won't stop until I can wash away the red that I saw in my dad's house. Until my tears are clear again, nothing has meaning like this does. He could have let me die, Lilly. Tell Oliver that Giovanni could have killed me, then killed my dad, then even killed the two of you, but he didn't. That would have never been enough for him. He let me go, he let me find my father murdered, bloodied, polluted in all that water; he wanted me to break and he wanted me to come back. He didn't count on me being so fast or strong, he didn't count on me having help. He didn't count me as a worthy opponent even. Not until now.

"For the first time I have him holed up in his own home and I'll be damned if I don't deliver him to Hell tonight itself. They could cut my hands off and I'd simply rip him apart with my bare teeth, that's how much hate's in me, Lilly. Oliver is right to think that I'm not myself because at moments I can smile and I can love, but not like this. Not when underneath the bit of humanity in me is pure rage ready to come out at any moment and I feel it now, I feel it so strong. I feel his mangled limbs, I smell his metallic blood, I taste the disgust I hold for him in my chest and I hear him screaming my name like a prayer for what he's done." Breathing harshly, I tried to reign in my emotions.

"I – I wish I could have done more –"

"You did everything I asked and that's more than I expected, Lilly."

"Miley." My teeth clenched hearing Oliver's voice again, softer this time. "I'm sorry."

"You don't –"

"Yes I do," he cut in. "I wish you would have let me in earlier. If you had told me what you just said, I'd never have held it against you. I guess I just need to know what's in your heart and…all that pain that just came out, I can't fight it, Miley. Only you can and I want you to know…" His voice cracked and I smiled because Oliver was always the most emotional of us three. "I just –" A low whimper told me everything.

"I love you, too, Oken."

"Please don't die, Stewart," he choked out.

"I second that," Lilly added before we shared a weak laugh.

"You guys are my strength," I said. "Remember that."

"Ah crap, Miles. This emotional stuff is getting to me," she muttered, sniffling and I could still hear Oliver weeping in the background which somehow soothed me because I could feel how much he cared for the first time since all this started. "I uh, ran your mafia girl's name, Mikayla and she's not in the system. Not one single database has her down so either she doesn't exist or she never had a legitimate birth certificate which would imply she was not born in a hospital. Honestly, I don't know but as far as I can tell you, legally speaking, she's a phantom."

Chuckling to myself, I nodded. "If anything, that makes her so much more real." _Keep that mask on, Marshall. At least I've seen who's under it. _

"It's way past time to say this," Lilly murmured. "But take care of yourself."

"You too, Lils. Same goes for you, Oli."

"Ditto," he managed to muster out.

Tranquility. That's what washed over me when I set the phone on its receiver. Now that things were settled between me and the people I cared about, there was no hesitation left. I exited Mikayla's house and steadily walked towards my dad's Chevy. As I took my place in the driver's seat, a feeling of comfort and of relief embraced me. I closed my eyes and let myself phase into the past.

"_Dad, come on!" Jackson had yelled from the foot of the stairs. _

"_Yeah, I ain't gettin' any younger!" I added, completely impatient considering that it was Jackson's prom night and by the grace of some angel above, my dad, the most protective father known to Malibu, had agreed to let me go with Jesse, my current boyfriend who had enough guts to ask my father's permission directly. _

"_You ain't gettin' any prettier either," Jackson said with a snicker that spurred five minutes of me chasing him around the living room couch. _

"_I don't even know what Sienna sees in you! I can find hogs back in Tennessee with more manners!" I snapped and to that Jackson simply stuck his tongue out, an action I mirrored before quick footsteps made us both straighten up. _

"_Nyah!" Jackson whisper-taunted as he poked my side. _

"_Nyeh!" I mocked, ramming my knee into his upper thigh. _

"_Kids, kids, relax, your ol' man has completed his shower, his shampoo and he's now ready to meet the world outside this here beach house," our dad announced, running a hand delicately over his sandy-blonde mass of thick, straightened, moussed hair. Neat bangs fell perfectly against his forehead and the brown dress-shirt brought out his hazel eyes while tan cowboy boots clicked against the floor. Shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his ripped jeans, he paused, looking over at Jackson and me. _

"_Oh my Lord, look at the two of you kids. Your mother would be so proud." _

"_Aw, dad. Got the genes from you, how can she not?" Jackson replied cheekily. He was in a custom-made all black tuxedo, complete with a bow-tie, slightly askew, compliments of Rico's Surf Shop whose money had paid Jackson's bill. I on the other hand didn't want to go all out, therefore I had worn a dress I found amongst my mother's stored away belongings along with a pair of matching stiletto's and a small clutch. _

"_She wore that on our first real date, you know," my dad told me with a happy sort of heaviness in his eyes. I looked down at the little black dress I was in, smiling faintly at the thought of my mom dressing up for my dad. "Most of our dates were to monster-truck rallies or concerts by my band, but one night, I decided I had to do right by her. Got reservations to the most expensive lobster-shack in town and when I saw your mother, she took my breath away. Just like you are right now, Mile." _

"_I'm glad I get to wear something of hers tonight. This makes it even more special and I know it wasn't easy for you to let me go, dad." _

"_Oh Mi, it'll never be easy lettin' my little girl grow up and get out into the world, even if it's something as small as prom."_

"_Daaaaad!" Jackson whined. "Can we not do the sentimental stuff right now? I promised Sienna we'd pick her up by seven, it's six forty now and the drive is fifteen minutes! By the time we get into the car, start it and drive, five minutes will be up! Come on, move, move, move!" Jackson encouraged us, getting behind my dad and me to guide us out the front door. _

"_Alright, relax boy. I didn't realize this Sienna girl had you so strung up!" _

"_She's not some girl. She's the girl, dad," Jackson informed us, stopping to take a calming breath as he ran a hand through his hair, messing it completely. "She's a model and of all people, she should be the one expecting the best out of me, but she doesn't, you know? She's happy with who I already am. Even when I burp loud, or eat like a pig, or leave my clothes all around, it never matters to her. She laughs at me or she laughs with me and there's no difference. And when I'm the one who makes her happy, I feel like some kind of superhero, as crazy as that sounds. So, if showing up on time proves to her even a little how much I care, then I'll do it because if she can accept my little errors, then I can make the little efforts to show her that I'm the guy who's here for the long haul." Touched for the first time in months by something my brother had said, I smiled, gripping my dad's arm to keep him from responding before I moved in front of Jackson and fixed his crooked bow-tie. _

"_You're already amazing, Jackson. In your own gross, but totally unique way," I said, earning a grin. _

"_Thanks, Mile." I brushed his hair back into place with my fingers and then took hold of my dad's forearm, leading them both towards the car. _

"_Tonight's gonna be awesome; I'm a sophomore invited to senior prom, by a senior." I sighed, elated at this privilege._

"_Yeah and the only reason you're going is because Jackson's gonna be there to watch out for you," my dad reminded me. _

"_Yeah, yeah, I know. But Lilly and Oliver are gonna be there, not together of course, cause ew!" I shuddered, unable to imagine the two of them even slightly romantic. Chuckling, my dad opened the passenger side door and helped me in while Jackson took the back since he'd wanted to sit with Sienna. _

"_Just make sure that, that Jesse fella doesn't do more than dance with my baby-girl," my dad warned Jackson who solemnly nodded. _

"_Don't worry, Robbie-Ray. Any daughter of yours is a sister of mine," he replied, making me look at him like the idiot he was. _

"_I swear. Moron," I had muttered. _

"_How am I the moron, think about it! If he has a daughter, she will technically be my sister, duh!" he scoffed._

"_I am not even going to argue with you about this." _

"'_Cause I'm right!" _

"_Yeah, you wish!" _

"_Dad, tell Miley all your daughters are my sisters!" _

"_Dad, tell Jackson how stupid it is that he needs to voice the obvious!"_

"_Both of you, quiet! Can ya'll try to get along?" my dad asked as he started the car and peeled out onto the road. "Jackson, Miley. You two are brother and sister, this is a big, important night for the both of you. Don't ruin it with your silly antics, just…try to get along, have fun, make memories." _

"_Okay," we both agreed, folding our arms and glancing guiltily at one another. _

"_You were right, Jackson…any daughter…of dad's…would indeed…seriously, you get what I'm saying," I muttered with an eye-roll as both of them laughed. _

_We fell into a comfortable conversation and soon enough my dad parked by the curb in front of Sienna's house. She used to be our neighbor, but for space, they moved out of their flat and into the newer home, one that I admired as Jackson nervously strode down the pathway to ring the doorbell. _

"_I'm so proud of that boy, he sounds like a man when he talks about this girl," my dad commented, sighing as he leant back into his seat. _

"_Mhm," I mumbled, pulling down the passenger mirror hooked to the roof of the car so I could make sure the little make-up I had used was in order. Frowning, I pushed the small light switch, but nothing happened. "Dad, is this light working?" _

"_Uh no, the bulb went out and I've yet to fix it. Here, use mine," he offered, pulling down his own mirror and swiveling it to face me, but in the midst of the movement, I caught sight of the item that floated down onto his lap. _

"_Dad," I said, gesturing to it and he looked down, smiling as he picked up the small photograph._

"_Forgot I kept that there," he murmured and noticing my curiosity, he held it out to me. _

_Taking and studying the picture, I had smiled seeing me and Jackson from a few years back. This was in Tennessee during a barbeque party. My dad had snuck up behind us and uncle Earl had his camera out as my dad grabbed both of us, one in each arm. We giggled and wriggled as the pictures were taken and pure happiness was all I could see. _

_Jackson's hazel eyes were soft and humored just like my dad's while my blue ones were bright and begging for freedom as the laughter had been too much. _

_As I studied the picture, my dad draped his arm over the headrest of my seat, saying "Back then, being a single parent wasn't easy for me, especially with all the growing up of my own I had to do. But there was one thing I never ever questioned and that was my devotion to you and Jackson. Some days were hard, impossible even, still are, but on those days, I just take a moment to sit here in my car and look at that picture because seeing you kids smile is all I need to keep me going." I had actually fought tears as I came to the realization of just how lucky I was to have Robbie Ray as my father. And hugging him tightly, I whispered softly to him…_

My jaw became tight as I reached up to the mirror, slowly pulling it down only to let out a shudder as I saw that very same photograph taped onto the reflective glass. "I love you, dad."

_Gosh, I'm sorry, Sienna. I'm related to a bunch of emotional weirdo's!" Jackson had exclaimed when they returned to see my dad and me sharing a hug. _

"_Yeah, well this – "_

"– emotional weirdo loves you too, Jackson," I retorted, unashamed. Pressing my lips to the vivid image, I then tucked it into my jacket pocket for luck. For them. For everything that made me who I am, for the two people I stand for most.

Starting my dad's truck, I threw the gear into drive and took off towards the Cicero mansion with the clearest mind and strongest heart I'd ever felt beating steadily in my chest.

* * *

By this time, I had waited much too long and cloaked in the night whose shadows matched my intentions, I picked up the loaded shotgun, exited the truck and slung the bag carrying spare shells across my shoulder, then pumping the engaged Mossberg once, I began my descent towards the mansion's rear entrance.

Whether Giovanni knew it or not, he wanted me alive. His guards would be ordered to capture me because he needed what I needed – to have victory realized, voiced and viciously so.

With that in mind, I hooked the shotgun over my shoulder as well, removing a clip point hunting knife complete with a serrated blade from its case. The black steel gleamed as I snapped the six and a half inch blade open. Then, retrieving the Glock 21 tucked into my waistband, I undid its safety. Having eleven bullets at my disposal, I firmly gripped the pistol in my left hand for backup as the hunting knife in my right begged to be used.

A pair of binoculars clarified just how many bodies stood between me and the back door. The answer was seven.

I hid myself behind the gate lined with overgrown bushes and wild shrubs. Two guards paced devotedly nearby on the inside and being thin enough, I squeezed my body through the too-wide metal bars, stilling as they stopped at the sound of the rustling leaves.

"You heard that?" one guy asked.

"Yeah, could be the wind or a cat though," the other reasoned.

"Or it could be her," was the low response.

"Check it out then." I suppose I had no choice and so crouched out of sight, the moment he got too close, I took hold of his leg, dragging him down with me while my knife founds its way into his lower thigh. His gun clattered to the ground and so much for a quiet arrival because not two seconds later, the other guard was firing in my direction.

But making use of my impromptu shield, he only shot down his partner while I took aim and made one clean finish to his chest, watching him drop like he'd never known life.

As I remained there, staring at what I'd done, my eyes shut so I could inhale the moment, placating and preparing myself as a mass of running boots torpedoed the grassy area. Machine guns roared to life, firing madly, endlessly as I threw myself onto my side, pulling the dead shield over me before taking aim. One bullet to a head, then to a chest, the third and fourth missed, another to a knee, a sixth to another head and the seventh claimed a heart.

My eyes raked over the fallen bodies and I took note of the one guy, nursing his leg in pain as he thrashed on the ground. Rising and dusting myself off somewhat, I made my way over, frowning as his hand darted for a weapon. Not bothering, I finished him off with a considerate bullet to the back of his skull and moved on.

Finding the door locked, I wasted the last two bullets on the handle. Then, disposing of the empty handgun and unnecessary binoculars, I pushed the door open only to find myself being over-powered by two enormous brutes. A large hand closed around my throat and I was slammed down onto the porch banister. Out-of-sorts, I gasped for a breath and jammed my blade into his side, making for one long distressing cry as we fell to the floor. The other man with his booted foot aimed for my face, but on reflex, I hurled my body to the side, took hold of my shotgun's handle and with little focus or aim, fired just to scare him back. Successfully making him waver, I brought the gun into its proper position, wasting no time in blowing a hole into both of their torsos.

Casing the hunting knife, I relied on the power of the Mossberg to protect me, keeping it readily in focus as I entered the mansion.

There, I met with an army of thirteen men. All brainwashed, all steamed, all charging. Some with blades larger than swords, others with guns better than bombs, few with bats and steel poles, endlessly craving my head on a lance to parade around for show.

A show it was, but hate would go beyond their limits. Mine and mine alone. A shotgun could tear through as many as one pleased, but my eyes were still too innocent and my hands not bloody enough. As thirteen foolish men thrived, one slated girl would be unleashed into mass-murder, mass-slaughter, mass-carnage.

Bullets blew holes into thick walls, wooden and steal bats and poles were blocked by this suddenly inhuman arm and I felt no pain as I slashed flesh without remorse. Guts would spill, blood would overrun, pleads of mercy went unheard and eventually with a possibly fractured arm, a surely wounded shoulder and six different stab wounds that were numb, I stood at the top of the stairs, a snarl ripping from my lips, a low growl of defiance and malice.

The hunting knife in hand dripped red, the shotgun over my shoulder smoked and not a single sound dared to be made as I walked forwards through the second floor, determined to find Cicero.

I opened every door, reloaded the Mossberg several times just to get through the locked ones; in frustration, I kicked a few open and it wasn't until I searched every corner before I heard the creek giving way to movement.

Like my father's house who tried to warn me of the misery inside as I stood in front of that threshold, this mansion, aged and wised told me a secret. The very scandalous kind of treachery where shelter ruined its master.

The third floor – that's where he was.

I wasn't bothered with agitation that the stairs were out of sight, perhaps out of reach too – secluded from trespassers. I was prepared to acknowledge Cicero's advantage in arena. But that didn't stop me from knocking out a window in haste with the front of my firearm. That didn't stop me from climbing out onto a ledge and making use of his many balconies as well as the foundation's structure to scale my way upwards.

The skin of my hands, naked to the roughness, suffered and burned to carry my weight. But the lightness in my heart was unmatched by that suffering when I caught sight of Cicero pacing to and fro with three guards by his side and then the assurance of alliance was found in Mikayla Marshall, who stood tall, leaning by the room's door, peaceful as though she were waiting.

_Wait for me, phantom. _

I could hear Cicero snapping at the guards who kept radioing in for the status of their watchmen who were all unable to answer – the dead don't take orders very well.

"One of you morons answer me!" Cicero demanded after snatching the radio. "Respond! Pick up the damn thing and reply, goddammit! Fuckin' worthless sons-a-bitches! It's one girl, they can't handle one girl, all I heard was gunshot after gunshot, they said they had her spotted by the gates, these fuckin' bastards don't know how to call in – don't know how to report back right away to the man who gives them their meals, who feeds their families! I swear all of them are done when I get out this godforsaken room!" The rant was long, he was winded and I could care less to listen.

Pressing the tip of the Mossberg against the window pane, I fired through my only barrier. Every one of them fell to the floor; Mikayla crouched, bringing out her Colt, Giovanni was instantly covered by his guards who brandished machine guns, all firing at me, only further creating my entryway as I hung off to the side.

"Shoot that damned bitch!" Giovanni cried and suddenly I heard three consecutive thuds. Three bodies crashed to the floor and taking a chance, I peered in to see Mikayla standing again, her gun being the cause of Cicero's wide eyes as he looked from one dead guard to the other two. Slowly getting to his feet, clothes now wrinkled, gray eyes dilating and short hair mussed, he turned to see his trusted girl.

"You…" he said in a pant of heavy breath. "My sweet girl, Kayla, you." While he was stupefied, I heaved myself inside, opting shotgun for contaminated blade. Mikayla's eyes were unreadable as she surveyed him from head to toe. The smirk that stole her lips perplexed even me.

"Gio – why so surprised?" she asked. "This day's been coming for nearly twenty years now."

"I should have known I couldn't trust you," he whispered.

"Of course you should. After all, you are, pardon me, were, my father's partner. You and him did create an empire – you did drink, eat and laugh merrily at his wedding, you were the fourth person to hold his firstborn when she came out of his wife's womb. Do you recall kissing my forehead, Gio. You were holding my mother's hand while my father hugged you – remember that video? I do, I still have it. I sometimes watch it too, to remind me how much he trusted you."

"Your father was a snake! A power-hungry low-life!" Cicero shouted.

"I know!" Mikayla roared back, looking close to pulling that trigger. "I know! I know exactly what kind of devil my father was! He deserved a worse death than he got – he could have been ripped limb-for-limb and burned for all I care! I don't remember that man, I probably loved him, but I don't remember! What I do remember is the way you kissed my mother. I remember how you tore her clothes off, how the tears poured down and she asked you once:_ Gio, don't do this, please?_ You just smiled. You smiled and you put your hands all over her – she was innocent. Her worst crime was having a heart that could love a bastard like my father. You may claim your virtues without humility, but a little girl saw you as the animal you really are."

"You waited all this time for what, revenge?"

"No." Mikayla glanced at me and I knew that finally, her mask had been ripped from her face – this is who she is. Closing her eyes, lost in a moment of grief, her voice was a low husk. "I tried to forget. Truth is, Gio. I feared you as much as I loathed you. I never wanted to see your face – I never wanted to risk a death like my mother's. I fled and threw myself into a normal life, but you were the one who searched me out. Did you honestly think I didn't know the truth? When I came back here from the army, you sent me a gift. You met with me as though you were family to see if I knew where my father kept his deed to all that land in Italy. My mother wouldn't tell you, even while you raped her, she never spoke. But I bet you didn't think your son would fall for me in just one meeting. That was all I needed, one meeting with you to realize our story was left unfinished."

"And you took three years to hold that gun to my face?" he seemed genuinely amused as well as puzzled. "Three years of dating my son – you and I have been alone so many times, and now? Why this instant? Why do you want me dead today? 'Cause of her?" he probed, jerking his head towards me.

"Who said I want you dead?" Mikayla retorted and now Cicero and I were both lost for words.

"Mikayla," he said sternly.

"I don't want my lonesome revenge. You've killed too many people, broken too many families, and destroyed too many lives for me to have that right. No, no, a bullet to your heart wouldn't suffice. You asked why I've waited three years, why I stayed with Sam, why I became as close as a daughter, why I have pretended to be your right hand. It's simple – yesterday, when I proved my complete loyalty and ability by handing Miley over to you, you gave me something in return."

Everything fell into place for Giovanni right then.

"No," he whimpered.

"Yes," she answered. "Access. Every name, every gang, every drug lord, enforcer, small-rank and high, the bought government officials, every officer and judge ever bribed by you – the locations where you stash your wealth, every bank account and company you control – your entire empire, Giovanni. All your alliances, competitors even, all that knowledge was finally shared with me, in turn, handed over to my team – they're taking all you've ever worked for as we speak and me, well I'm taking you in. So no, this is not at all about revenge for my mother. This is justice for anyone you've harmed with your corrupt hands."

"You filthy spy."

"No, Gio. Just a girl. Actually, I'm simply a highly trained civilian. It's just that when you met with me – you shook me up bad three years ago. But once Sam leered at me and asked for a date, I saw a chance. You handed me that chance, you know. I made a call to soldiers I could trust and you became our mission. But look at the girl behind you – you've taken everything from her. Family, love, sanity even. Look at the cuts, the blood, the number of lives she's taken just to stand here today. She's just like I wish I could have been," Mikayla admitted, smiling faintly. I swallowed as Cicero turned, facing me. "And if Miley chooses to kill you now, I won't stop her. I won't ruin the revenge she's fought so hard for," she said, addressing me directly. "But Miley, you have a choice. Let me call in my reinforcements to arrest him or finish it off now and I'll say he died in the crossfires."

Jail vs. Death.

Justice vs. Revenge.

To test my thirst, I walked purposefully to Giovanni, ramming the blade into his gut once, then slowly pulling it out, he gasped and moaned. He fell to his knees as I stepped back.

"Will that kill him?" I asked. With a raised brow, Mikayla shook her head.

"No, it'll just hurt. A lot." Leaving him that scar to remember me by would have to be enough because as much as it disappointed me, Mikayla was right. He hurt too many people and they deserved the chance to sentence him.

"Then fine. Arrest him," I agreed, turning to look out the window because I didn't want to see his ugly face anymore. But that was my fatal error.

My only mistake. Because on the floor where Giovanni knelt, he managed, despite his injury to get his hands one of the forgotten machine guns, opening fire wildly.

Mikayla, jumping for cover behind a column made it to protection, but not before I saw a bullet pierce through her back, blood spilling to the floor. Before he could turn on me, I tossed my hunting blade with every ounce of force in my aching arm, knocking the weapon out of his hand, but I wasn't prepared when he charged at me like a raging bull, throwing us both out of the broken window.

My arms clung around his shoulders and as we tumbled, we smashed into a railing, then were hurled against the slap of the hard brick awning from the first floor, losing the grips we had on one another as we separated, finally colliding to the hard dirt of that grassy ground.

The nasty crash of my body couldn't compare to the feel of the shattering impact. He howled in pain, but I was unable to make a sound, trying and failing to get out a breath from the shock. After minutes of panic, I felt the shotgun digging into my back, surprised it didn't go off and though I desperately wanted to move and relieve myself of the excruciating weapon, I could not.

More panic arose as I lay paralyzed on the ground, then coughing and sputtering blood. My throat constricted and I felt consciousness try to leave me – too much pain. I closed my eyes, praying for it to end.

And somehow, Giovanni got to his feet. He towered above me, a sneer on his lips. Fear took my panic and made it seem like nothing as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked me back, the torturous sensations tearing through me like a thousand needles to the nape of my neck.

He shouted curses as he dragged me by my hair across the unforgiving ground. My weapon was lost in transit, my jacket rode up every time he pulled just for the pleasure of it and I could feel the skin of my back slowly bruising, then shredding.

All that time, I could not move. Blood continued gurgling past my lips, my eyes rolled back, and when he finally stopped, everything went black – in and out – in and out – sight then blind – unconscious then conscious again.

"She loves you, I see it now. You stole her from me," he muttered and I could see that he stopped in front of a line-up of parked cars.

_She was never yours, Giovanni. You betrayed her father, her mother, her. _

"I won't make it, but if she does, it won't be worth it with you hacked to pieces," he snarled, opening one of the car trunks.

Removing a large wooden crate, he flipped the top open, bringing out an axe – a sharp one whose blade shimmered even in the night.

"You know how you ruin a person? You don't shoot them or kill them, no. You attack their heart," he confided. "Just like you killed my son. You hurt my heart. Just like she betrayed me, she sold me out and now," he growled. "Now I can ruin you both – she'll find you scattered in pieces and you, you'll die knowing you left her behind. Everyone she loved was taken from her and you'll just be another tragedy in the pathetic life of Mikayla Anne Marshall."

_Anne. One more piece to the puzzle that is Mikayla. _

My eyes stung with her pain as he brought the axe down towards my neck. My beheading was ill-planned because as I thought of Mikayla's life, my continuance seemed necessary, if only to see her face one more time. My right elbow shot out, into the bony shank of his leg while I caught hold of the axe's handle, moving my neck out of the way just in time.

Horror crossed his face as I found my breath despite all the blood clogging my throat. Spitting it out, he scrambled away from me while I stood, stalking Giovanni backwards, his axe tight in my hold.

Spinning on his heel, he made an outright pitiful run for it. I hurled the axe at his back, watching as it struck him and his entire body stretched into an awkward position. His scream was suffocated by his need to inhale. Picking up the heavy wooden crate he left behind, I staggered forward, moving in front of him to look into his eyes before slamming him with the case.

Begging for me to stop, he wriggled in pain, left eye damaged and running red.

"Please, Miley," he huffed. "No more –"

"Cry your tears of blood, Giovanni. Drown me in water drops of red. I enjoy it," I assured him before bringing the crate back, then with all the strength I could summon, I smashed his other eye in, making him wail in undeniable anguish.

Stabbed in the back and blinded by justice – this was right, I thought as I crumpled to the ground next to him, coughing, weakened from exertion.

Hearing the commotion, I looked off to the side to see two of Cicero's men rushing towards us, semi-automatics at their disposal.

There was nothing I could do now, but smile pathetically at my accomplishment.

A loud screech of tires on the other side, however, stole my attention. At the wheel, I perceived a male driver, but what stood out was the girl standing on the back of the dark green Jeep Wrangler, black hair flowing as she hopped to the ground, bringing with her a sniper. Within eight seconds, the men approaching were shot gracefully from a distance.

Her eyes darted from me to Giovanni, her frown deepening with each step. Bending to one knee in front of me, she cupped my cheek, looking up and down my body as if surveying the damage done with a look of empathy.

Touching her earpiece, she spoke, her voice soft and commanding. "Torres to Ryan. Call for the helicopter. Civilian and target are both down; Soldier is nowhere in sight."

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**A/N**: _One chapter to go. Also, the poll – don't forget to let me know your preferences if you'd like to see Mikayla's POV. _


	17. Aftermath

**Water Drops of Red**

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**Gunner3284**: Words cannot describe how simply epic your review was.

**LuvMRayC**: Wow, thank you for that flurry of compliments and I'm so sorry to have made you wait this long. If you're still around, I hope you enjoy this.

**DemenaLuvr**: Lol, cliffhangers are way too much fun, but I am at fault for leaving you all hanging for so long. As for you, I think you're right on track with handling things. And your compliments kill me in the best way possible, thank you so much.

**SunStorm18722**: The twists were definitely exciting to write and I'm glad you feel everything went well together, especially when I used the title in Miley's dialogue. I wasn't certain on how things would pan out, so to hear your review really helped to smooth that worry over for me. Lmao, don't worry, I've taken your concerns into consideration before writing this chapter so please, enjoy and thank you for the helpful feedback.

**Raven**: LOL, so sorry to keep you waiting. Enjoy and I love your enthusiasm [:

**DoIHaveTo**: Lol, hey. So much joy in your one review, lmao. I'm happy to hear you're so happy and that life's good. I appreciate and adore your compliments and I feel the same towards you. As for marriage, I'm an anti-commitment kind of girl, so take it slow there :p Lmaoo. I'm no good at guessing games and I hope you enjoy this chapter :]

**Luz4mj1995**: Lmao, you're such a pervert. I was ecstatic to hear how much you liked the last chapter; hope you enjoy this one c:

**Eve**: That was really sweet of you to say, thank you.

**Mythical** **Mania**: I was a little bit touched that you harped on that line since I was a bit iffy on it – I'm relieved to hear it worked so well for readers, so thank you very much for that as well as the compliments, it means a lot to me. And you're awesome for that motivating review.

**BritishDenial**: Hey, no worries about the poll, I made sure to include your vote for the choice you wanted.

**Sarcasm110011**: Lmao, oh god. You really got me with that onslaught of compliments. Thank you and as much fun as continuing this story would be, I think it's worked itself out to the end. Again, thank you for the kind review and I hope you enjoy this one.

**ExodusofDreams**: Dude, you are awesome. Enough said. That review was so in-depth and just fun for me to read. I love your thinking and the way you look in between the lines. I miss you and thank you for taking the time. Love, love, love you.

**LevyaLocaLoba**: To hear you couldn't put your IPod down is really such a compliment. Thank you [:

**Ms-rappy-sleeper**: LOL, aw. Get that eye-twitch checked :p And as much as you may have missed my stories, I've missed your reviews with all the humor and wonderful feedback. I completely get the Demena vs Mikiley dynamic. I'm so set on Mikiley that whenever I used to read Demena, I just imagined Mikiley which is wrong, but I get that you can't help but ship and love your OTP. I'm truly honored that you read my stories despite loving Demena, it says a great deal and I hope you enjoy this :]

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**A/N: **It's been over two months since I updated and that's just plain sad. I can't apologize enough and for the people still reading this story, I hope the wait was worth it.

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**Chapter 17: **Aftermath

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**Miley's POV**

When the helicopter touched down bringing with it a constant blast of dirt-swirled wind, two paramedics sprung out and into action, taking the-newly-introduced Mitchie's place to check on me.

"What's your name, hun?" the dark-skinned woman asked.

"Miley," I managed to answer as I struggled with every breath.

"Can you tell us where it hurts?" the other medic asked, taking out a stethoscope from his bag.

"Where doesn't it hurt?" I retorted, already regretting the laugh that burned my chest.

Away from us, Mitchie spoke into her headpiece, demanding an ambulance while the paramedics scrambled back and forth, the woman trying to find out what was wrong with me, the man carrying a long yellow backboard over to us under one arm and a C-collar in his other hand.

"Multiple stab wounds and internal bleeding apparent," the woman said as she began pressing her hand against my upper side, lower and lower until I froze completely and let out a deep gasp.

"Fuck," I groaned.

"Possible broken ribs. We need to find out what's causing the bleeding and fast. Pass me the collar," she said to her partner. After getting the neck brace on, they carefully slid me onto the backboard and as they worked, the less aware I became of my surroundings.

"I can't – can't breathe."

"Miley, hold on, we're getting you to the ER, you'll be fine," Mitchie promised, coming back over to us and crouching down next me.

"Mikayla," I sighed, rapidly losing focus. "Help her."

"This girl has a collapsed lung," the female medic realized. "Get the doctors to prepare for an emergency thoracentesis, we need to set her up with oxygen now." But by then, I ran out of air and lost consciousness.

* * *

When I did wake up, my entire body felt vaguely broken. Every slight move made my teeth clench to hold in a moan and it was a full minute before I was capable of shifting on the hospital bed, hoping to sit up.

"Don't you dare," a stern voice warned and I gasped more in pain than surprise as my head snapped to the left to see Mikayla staring back at me.

The blue button-up shirt she wore was torn down the middle as if ripped open; her black undershirt was wrinkled and her hand rested just beneath her sternum. She was slumped back into the seat, her body rigid in its posture. "I've been waiting sixteen hours to see those blue eyes."

"Sixteen hours," I repeated, closing my eyes. "Where the fuck are the drugs?"

"That bad?"

"Worse," I muttered before frowning. "And you were shot."

"Yeah, but it was close-range. The bullet didn't go through, missed my major organs and the doctors removed it, no big deal."

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Miley," she laughed. "This is minimal in comparison to half the injuries I've sustained. I'll be fine. Besides, I needed to make sure you were alright."

"I don't care if you consider it minimal, you were shot and you need to take it easy."

"I'm not exactly running a marathon, I can rest right here in this chair," she countered.

"I guess," I mumbled, keeping my gaze on her.

"I see our patient's regained consciousness, how are you feeling Miss Stewart?" A new voice asked, making me look over to see an older woman in dark green scrubs enter the room, clipboard in hand. "I'm Doctor Ryerson and I understand that you're in a lot of pain, but you've suffered quite a few different injuries last night and we simply can't mix certain drugs so while dulling the pain of your fractured ribs, the rest take a back seat."

"Fractured ribs, you sure my ribcage didn't fall apart in there?" I asked, only half-joking.

"I'm glad you didn't try to move too much yet. Understanding just what you're dealing with will help you manage the pain."

Mikayla turned paler by the second and I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"Doctor Ryerson, as much pain as I'm in, can you get my uh – friend to rest, she seems ready to pass out."

"Friend, huh?" Mikayla asked with a ridiculous smirk that I chose to ignore.

The doctor's brows crinkled for a moment as she surveyed Mikayla's position before she nodded. "Miss Stewart has a point, if I'm correct you just came out of surgery to remove a bullet. You should be on a morphine drip."

"I'm aware and I've already taken enough opioids for the pain. Trust me, I'm not the one who needs your care, doctor."

"Miss Stewart," Doctor Ryerson said, refocusing on me. "I'm told by paramedics that you were assaulted by a mugger last night at the train station, really I am so sorry you had to face such an ordeal –" Immediately, I glanced over at Mikayla who shrugged, then winced. "After you're released, you can go over to our Med Center and see about talking to a psychologist to help you cope. For now though, let's discuss your physical well-being. I was told you fell from the subway step's balcony." She looked at me as if to confirm this and so I nodded mutely.

"The fall caused a crack in two of your ribs, the upper and middle one. Unfortunately, the middle rib punctured your lung which explains why you couldn't breathe and why breathing now is difficult and painful. We performed a procedure called a thoracentesis which removed the collection of air that prevented your lungs from expanding and functioning. So far, your lungs seem to be in order so unless it collapses again, it's safe to say you won't be needing surgery."

"How long will my ribs take to heal?"

"Typical recovery time is six weeks, you'll need plenty of rest, and for the next three days I want you to apply an ice-pack every twenty minutes of every hour to the area, after that keep icing as you feel fit. I'll give you a prescription to some strong pain medications, be sure to follow the directions and do not overdose. If the pain is still too much, you can always come back in or go to a private doctor to increase the dosage without putting yourself at risk."

"That doesn't sound too bad," I murmured, but I spoke much too soon because Mikayla scoffed and the doctor wore a sympathetic expression.

"Actually, there's more. You suffered six stab wounds, all have been stitched and you'll need to apply medicine every other day and make sure to be careful of wetting the bandages. I'd recommend sponge-bathing for the first few weeks."

"No showers, that should be fun," I muttered.

"And last, we need to discuss your left shoulder."

"What about it? Did I dislocate it?"

"Actually, a dislocation is less severe. What you have is a Type II separated shoulder."

"Is that bad?"

"It's nothing that can't heal. Recovery time is also about six weeks depending on how you treat it. I want you to ice the area for at least thirty minutes every three to four hours and no using it at all. After a few weeks, you can look into physical therapy to exercise it and help your shoulder regain full function."

"Anything else broken?" I asked, already distressed.

"That's the extent of it. Considering that one of these injuries is a lot to handle, the next few weeks are crucial and you'll definitely have it harder, but if you take care of yourself, I can promise your body will heal and you'll be back to your normal self within the next few months."

"Thanks, and uh, how long will I be in here?"

"We'll be monitoring you for the next three days considering just how much you've been through, then you'll be released if you have no setbacks."

The doctor exited the room after informing me that a nurse would be in shortly to check my vitals and run a few tests.

"I'm sorry this happened," Mikayla whispered and I was surprised at how severe her expression was. Like she blamed herself for the choices I made. "If I let you kill him, hell, if I had killed him first, he would have never been able to touch you."

"I knew what I was getting myself into. I know more than anything now that we make our own choices and we have to live by them no matter what. I'm not ashamed of what I've done or how I went about it. I even consider myself lucky, you know. I could be dead."

"Exactly," she said. "I thought I could handle it, that I could stand aside and let you make whatever decisions you wanted and not be affected by it because what right did I have to stop you? What right did I have to ask you to not go after a man like him? None, I know. But when that bullet hit me, Miley and I looked back, I saw him take you from me. Through a window, no less. All the while I was laying there, bleeding out, I wished that I had locked you away in a room and kept you safe. It's selfish, but I wanted you to myself and knowing that there was a chance that I'd never see you again, it was like being a child again and having no control. All I could see was the way I failed my mother and just the same, I failed you."

I couldn't listen to this, not when none of it was true.

"You're wrong, Mikayla. So, so wrong. The fact of it was that if you had done something all those years ago for your mother, you would certainly be dead already. You had no choice but to hide and wait it out because deep down, you knew that one day you'd be older and stronger and you'd then have a real chance at facing the man who subjected you and the mother you loved to so much misery. She locked you away because she wanted to keep you safe, but it was your choice to come out. Just like it was mine to go after Giovanni for what he did to me, to my family. And Mikayla, you can tell yourself you've failed all you want, but the fact is this:

"I was paralyzed after I crashed through that window and hit the ground. I choked on my own blood while Giovanni dragged me to a merciless death. I could feel my skin tearing and I was too weak to save myself, too tired and scared. I thought for a moment that I would rather die than keep feeling so much pain, but when Giovanni said your name, when he told me that my death would kill you more than it would kill me, I found the some iron will I didn't know I had. I not only stopped him from ending my life, but I found strength enough to fight back and give him what he deserved all along. So how could you have failed me when it was you who saved me?"

She kept her face downcast, covering her eyes and shaking her head as tears spilled over.

"Goddamn, words hurt more than bullets," she muttered while getting to her feet in what I could only imagine to be an agonizing move, but rather than scold her for it, I knew whatever she was doing, she needed to.

Her breaths became shallow and I was near ready to click the red button for a nurse to come in just before Mikayla managed to lean over me, her elbow resting on the bed to hold her up.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Will you stay with me?"

I couldn't help but smile and lift my hand to her face in hopes of touching her, but regretted the move as a startled cry ripped from my throat.

"Ugh, fuck." I tried to catch my breath and tensed, willing the pain away.

"Relax," she whispered into my ear, nuzzling the side of my face gently. "Close your eyes and pretend you feel nothing but my breath against your skin."

Her voice was almost a lull I didn't expect and it became a task to reopen my eyes when I realized one thing didn't sit right with me.

"Why does Doctor Ryerson think I was mugged last night?"

Mikayla's hand found mine, bringing it to her lips and keeping it there as she answered.

"Because that's what the police report says. I was the head of the mission to infiltrate and take down Gio's mob so the final word goes through me. As far as the NYPD is concerned, you're a civilian and nothing more. I had all evidence linking you to him erased and burned. The hunt for you is over and I know you were ready to take a death penalty for what you did, but the truth is, without the push from you, Giovanni would have never been so backed into a corner that he would need to trust me. You helped me and I refuse to let you go down for it."

Smiling, I brushed her chin with the back of my fingers.

"And your choice has nothing to do with the fact that I was sleeping with you?"

Her brows raised and she shook her head adamantly.

"Of course my choice has nothing to do with you sleeping with me. It has everything to do with you sleeping with me," she grinned and I couldn't help but laugh, then grimace in regret.

"Why does everything have to hurt?" I whined.

"Tends to happen when you take on a mob boss and he tackles you through a window."

"Shut up," I muttered. "Is he in jail?"

Mikayla's mouth shut and she shook her head.

"He's actually here in the hospital's morgue."

I wanted to be surprised, but all I could feel was relief. Jail was much too good for a man like him.

"How? I remember him alive last I saw. He was taken into custody by an agent on the helicopter your friend Mitchie arrived in."

"Yeah, well. Blind and all, he tried to make a run for it. I was being helped out of the mansion by an ex-soldier from my army days and when I saw Gio book it, I just lifted my Colt and took the shot."

"Did it feel good, being the one who killed him?" I asked.

Mikayla seemed a little lost about it, torn even.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Part of me regrets it, part of me doesn't. I've killed before, but only when I had no other choice."

"But you didn't have a choice, he tried to run. You had to, else that bastard would have been set loose on the world again."

"All I know is that it's over, Miley," she said, her face just above mine. "And I'm glad we both made it."

Leaning up, I pressed a soft kiss to her jaw. "Me too."

"I'm gonna look after you once they let you out."

Giving her a doubtful look, I chuckled and gestured to her torso.

"Yes, because you're more than capable of doing so."

"Hey, hey, hey. I'll have you know that I feel just fine." But she was trembling slightly and beads of sweat had formed at her temple from the exertion it took to just stand at my bedside. "Besides, if I go missing for too long, you can probably find me collapsed on the floor somewhere."

"Please sit down, you look like hell."

"Yeah, Marshall. Listen to the girl," another voice interjected and we both looked up to see Mitchie standing by the door.

"Torres, hey," Mikayla greeted as she straightened.

"Nice to see you again, and thanks for earlier," I added in appreciation.

"Hey, and no problem, Miley. I actually brought you a present."

Before I could ask, Lilly stepped out from behind Mitchie with an oversized teddy-bear and all but ran to my side.

"Holy shit," I laughed as she set the stuffed animal on the table nearby.

"Oliver had to stay in L.A. for work, but I wanted to see you in person." She studied me and frowned. "The doctor told us about your injuries, I would hug you or something, but I'm afraid of hurting you."

Mitchie by then had come around the bed and slid one arm around Mikayla's waist despite her protests and gently, but forcibly guided her to her chair.

"Don't start with me, Marshall. You may be the leader here, but it's my job to make sure you don't get hurt, even by your own doing."

"Oh really? That explains where you were when I got shot," Mikayla retorted, gesturing to her body with an accusatory expression.

"That's because I was making sure your lover's pals over there were safe, on your order, I might add."

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night."

"I'll have you know I sleep like a baby."

"You haven't even slept yet. None of us have, apart from Miley," Mikayla pointed out.

"Not by choice," I mumbled, breaking the two's spat as they looked over at me.

"If you both are going to argue while my best friend is still recovering from single-handedly taking down Giovanni Cicero, I won't hesitate to ask either of you to leave," Lilly warned.

"Well, I don't know about single-handedly," I murmured.

"I'm just sittin' here," Mikayla defended as she shifted in her seat.

"Single-handedly?" Mitchie demanded. "Single-handedly! Who the hell just saved you from from being crossed off the mafia hit-list?"

Mikayla reached up and poked Mitchie's leg, shaking her head very slowly as if to say do not do this, you will have regrets, but it was too late because Lilly walked around and right up to Mitchie.

"Did I ask for your help?"

Mitchie sputtered for a moment and Mikayla shot me an amused smile.

"Don't pretend you did it out of the goodness of your pure military heart!" Lilly continued.

"Hey now," I tried.

"It was an order, not a favor and it's not our fault you couldn't crack this case on your own."

"Lilly!" I groaned. "It was a team effort, no need to start anything."

"Oh, it's been started," Mitchie growled, eye-to-eye with Lilly. "And I don't make a habit of leaving anything unfinished."

"Alright, timeout. Both of you to your corners," Mikayla cut in.

When nobody moved, I faked painful groan. "Please you two, all this fighting can't be good for me."

At that, they both stepped away from each other, Mitchie going near the door and Lilly coming back over to me.

Reaching over, I squeezed her arm in place of the hug I wanted to give her.

"You were my rock, Lil. I can't believe I'm even seeing you right now, what's it been? Four years since we had a last met up?"

Laughing, she squinted slightly as if trying to pinpoint the exact date and time.

"Yeah, I remember. You were still dating Jesse and we met up when Oli and I came to visit my mom back in Malibu. We spent the entire night down by the beach, Oli and Jess were almost arrested for trying to start a small campfire and you and I fell asleep on the back of your dad's pickup."

"I woke up feeling like crap, my back was stiff and my neck was all wrong, but nothing compared to the mess I'm in now."

"I'm sorry, Mile. I wish I –"

"Please Lilly. Don't start with that guilt trip you keep throwing yourself on. Like I said before, you were exactly where I needed you to be. Without your help, I wouldn't have known where to start."

"It's nothing you wouldn't have done for me," she murmured, kissing into my hair softly. "And you," Lilly said, setting her sights on Mikayla.

"Oh boy," I sighed, hoping this conversation wouldn't take a bad turn as Mikayla's all-too-innocent brown eyes widened.

"What'd I do?" Mikayla asked while Mitchie let out a quiet laugh.

"You looked out for my best friend," Lilly began sincerely. "I didn't know if I could trust you at first because the way I saw it, you were using her. I was wrong and I'm glad I was. It's comforting now to think that all along, when Miley was out here alone in this strange city, she had someone covering her tracks and watching out for her. Thank you, Marshall. If I had lost another Stewart to Giovanni, it would've broken me."

"You wouldn't have been the only broken thing around here if Gio managed that," Mikayla replied in a low husk that hinted at her emotions resurfacing.

The room took on a sudden shift, one of silence. An agreement between all four of us to understand just how much we'd been through and though we were victorious, we were still human and had to bear the aftershocks and the odd quiet that occurs after a storm passes through a desolate place.

Mitchie was the first to recover.

"Hey, Lilly," she murmured. "Let me buy you a coffee. Maybe we can start over."

"Oh," Lilly said. "Sure, yeah, let's go," she agreed.

Mitchie held the door open politely, then smiled at us before the both of them exited, deliberately leaving Mikayla and I alone.

"I hope Lilly realizes that Mitch has no problem hitting on a girl who's got a boyfriend," Mikayla said.

I couldn't fight a smile, but was more concerned with the girl sitting next to me rather than Lilly.

"She can handle herself."

"I don't disagree."

"Mikayla?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you talk a lot when you're nervous?"

She seemed surprised at the question and slowly shook her head.

"Well, no. Not usually. It's just…I'm on quite a few drugs right now, makes harder to filter my – hey! What makes you think I'm nervous?"

"It's probably the drugs. You're sillier than usual."

"Am not."

"Mikayla."

"Am not," she repeated.

I felt a sudden strike in my chest. "There's still so much I don't know about you."

"It really might not be the drugs," she said, a certain seriousness coming over her. "It's uh, this is the first time I've actually been happy in a long while. I feel like I don't have a care in the world and what makes it better is that I'm here with you and I know that…it's not over. You and I, we're going somewhere. I guess I always thought that there was nothing more to my life than what went down last night, I never planned for the aftermath. Somehow you just came along and fit in perfectly."

"Despite the fact that I can't move from this bed and you're stuck in that chair, I never imagined being this lucky. I know the reason you dealt with the police and the evidence is because you care for me. Thank you."

"Miley, I more than care for you."

I knew already, it was in her eyes from the first irrational kiss.

"I more than care for you too, Kayla."

Her brow raised at the shortening of her name and then she smiled, a different sort of smile that I'd never seen from her. It was almost goofy and partially delighted with a touch of promise.

Just the thought of knowing more of Mikayla did something funny to my chest, something that had nothing to do with the collapsed lung or damaged rib-cage. The best part of it was that now I'd have all the chances in the world to tell her.

And despite being in so much pain, I could finally put the past to rest. Say farewell to the two men who meant something to me and know that their deaths weren't for nothing. It's just that with having someone here who needs me, and being that I need her too, they may have to wait a little while longer before I can celebrate with them. But I think they'll understand. I even think they'd prefer it this way.

* * *

**A/N**:_This chapter is the technical ending to the story. The poll results are in favor of an epilogue from Mikayla's point of view so I hope to post that in a few days or so. Also, a sincere thank you to all of the readers and reviewers who've kept with this story. I love you guys [:__  
_


	18. Epilogue

**Water Drops of Red**

**Ameha Kay**: Lol, thank you for that reaction.

**DoIHaveTo**: I figured you'd have no clue what I was talking about since it took me forever to post that last chapter, lol. Thank you so much for the review and I hope you survived your week of P.E. Don't die please o:

**LevyaLocaLoba**: I'm glad the ending pleased you. I don't think I'd have the heart to put Miley through all that pain only for her to die, lol. Maybe in another story :3 Also, thank you for the compliment, I truly appreciate it. [:

**SunStorm18722**: Breaking anything really sucks, so I myself feel a little cruel for all of Miley's injuries. Hah, your take on Oliver cracked me up, lol. I hope this epilogue lives up to what you wanted to see happen and thank you so much for the feedback :]

**Raven**: Lmao, I know it was, but thank you and enjoy c:

**Mythical** **Mania**: Haha, oh the wonder if Oliver wasn't :p Thank you and I hope you enjoy the epilogue [:

**DemenaLuvr**: I really am so sorry for leaving you hanging that long. I'm honored you could re-read the story though and find something new every time. I completely adore your compliments and I can't thank you enough. As for the dating scene, I hope things go well and that you have fun :]

**Mikiley** **fan**: Thank you and here you are. Enjoy :]

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

**Five Months Later**

**Mikayla's POV**

She has no clue how beautiful she is. Just like this. Asleep in nothing but the sheets that cover us. My throat aches from some irritating lump that refuses to go away. Why do I always want to cry when I realize how much I love her?

I don't mind feeling so much though. I've always felt so much, but never love. It was always fear or misery. Worthless and hopeless. Abandoned and lost to a torment of my own.

I used to have nightmares; realistic ones of my mother on the day she was killed. Giovanni would be looming over her, doing things I can hardly stand to think of. But in the nightmares he would stop and look up at me. He would grin that toothy grin and those perverse gray eyes would devour me like I was next.

Then he'd leave my mother, dead and desecrated. He'd come towards me, take me by the hair and drag me to the couch just like he did her. That was my nightmare and there was a time when I'd relive it every night. I'd wake up terrified and think for just a second that maybe I was only dreaming. Maybe my mom was in the next room.

Some nights I would call for her, but she never came. She never wrapped me up in her long arms and told me everything was alright. Instead, a nurse at the special facility would console me, or worse, no one at all.

Now not a night goes by where Miley doesn't hold me close to her. On the days that I can't stop crying, she just pulls my face into her chest and keeps me there. I thought I was being overly emotional, but she would just say that I held it all in for too long. That I needed to let go and she was right to predict it would take a lot of tears to finally move on.

I don't know why I have such a strong attraction to Miley. I remember when I first saw her, strung up by chains in Cicero's dank basement. I couldn't even see her face. Just her hair, her body, her bleeding wrists. But it was her voice that threw me. It was low-pitched, raspy and sexy. I reacted viscerally with every word she spoke. She was everything I wasn't. Fearless, angry, spewing, enraged and so strong. She didn't shy away from speaking her mind even when Giovanni hit her. Her screams were fury. I was even scared at times that she might break loose of her restraints and beat the living shit out of everyone in her brother's name.

It inspired me, reminded me of why I was working with a monster like Giovanni. It was all for the one I loved. Just the same as her. In all my years, from living on the streets to being in the army, I never once identified with a single soul. They were all just faces. Some could make me laugh, others could make me smile. But feel like we knew each other deeply, never. Feel like I could crack in front of them, never. Feel like I could shed a tear, never.

But with Miley, it felt like the dam just broke wide open, and every repressed emotion poured out freely.

The thing that really affected me about her was the kiss. I didn't expect her last request to be as bold as that. Even in bars and scandalous clubs, no one had the guts to talk to me that way, to take hold of me and just do what they wanted, without shame.

Miley's the first person who made clear what she wanted from me. While my life was built on the protection of lies, hers was a force for truth. She smiled even after killing a man. Nothing to hide. I think that's the most beautiful part of her. I never have to guess. Her motives, wants, and desires are all in her eyes or on her lips.

Some nights before we sleep, she tells me stories about her dad, Robbie Ray and her brother, Jackson. In my heart, they're as alive as she is. The way she talks about her father sticks with me the most. Maybe it's because I know he's the reason Miley's so wonderful. I kind of wish I got to meet him. Miley says my eyes remind her of his even though his are more hazel and mine are more brown.

It scares me to think that she sees something good in me. I've been fighting my demons for so long, it's hard not to become one. Maybe I am one.

I'm lured out of pensiveness when Miley shifts against me, burrowing deeper into my arms. It's second nature the way I let my chin rest atop her head, in the comfort of her soft hair.

"You smell good," she mumbles. "You always smell good."

"Do I?" I ask, my arms tightening around her.

"Mhm." Her breathing slowly evens out and I know she's fallen asleep again.

I take a chance and run my fingers down her side, stopping at one of the few scars she has. I trace it with a frown and wish I could have somehow transferred all the pain she endured from her body onto mine. It was miserable watching her suffer from all those injuries because there was little I could do while recovering from my own. At least I only had one wound to deal with, she had several. I'm just relieved she's come back from it so strong.

She sees her scars and though she hates the physical mark itself, she appreciates what they mean for her. I see my own scars and don't know what to think. Sometimes I feel stronger because I survived. Other times I feel foolish because they hindered me from my full potential.

I think of too many what ifs. What if I was never shot? Maybe then Giovanni wouldn't have had the chance to hurt her and leave her in such a bind. Maybe I wouldn't have to live with certain regrets.

A bright blue light flashes behind me and I turn a little, making Miley cling to me tighter as I reach for the buzzing device. The screen of my cell almost blinds me for moment before I see whose call it is: Mitchie Torres. I answer.

"Hey, it's after three in the morning, I can't talk."

"I'm taking on a new assignment and I fly out at 6:15 a.m. I won't be able to contact anyone for the first few weeks. I figured we could share a drink before I left."

I think for a moment and nod. "Yeah, alright. Come over."

"See you in ten," she says and disconnects.

For the first five minutes, I run my hand up and down Miley's healed back. It's as smooth as it was before and it manages to amaze me how all those bruises have vanished.

Finally, I grip her arms and try to slacken the hold she has on me, but it disrupts her.

"Kayla," she grumbles.

"I have to get up. Mitchie's coming over for a bit."

One eye opens curiously and she stares at me through the darkness. "What for?"

"She's going off on assignment so she wants to have a drink."

"A drink this early?"

I smile at Miley's expression and press a lingering kiss close to her lips. "Just one."

"Fine, and tell her I said good luck. I'd tell her myself, but…" she trails off, her eyes shutting in the process.

"Sleep, sweetheart," I whisper, loving that I can be so affectionate before I remove myself from her. The streetlights illuminate the room just enough for me to see clearly and the whole time I get dressed, I can't help but watch how peaceful Miley is. It does something to me. Makes me feel like nothing can take the calm away. Like nothing can surprise me. Like nothing can hurt me.

My feet slip easily into a pair of green slippers and I exit the room, tiptoeing down the stairs to avoid making too much noise. This house is still new to me and even though I don't know it very well, I feel at home.

After Miley's more tedious injuries had healed, I came to the realization that there was nothing left for me in New York. She has her job here in California, her best friend lives closer by in Los Angeles and so once I wrapped up things with my team, we moved here together, into a new home to start fresh.

I remember the first day we came to Malibu. Miley had taken me with her to see her father and brother. I was a little entranced when with her bare hands she began digging into the dirt in front of Mr. Stewart's gravestone only to retrieve a brown leather necklace with a silver cross.

I look down and touch the ornament as it hangs from my neck.

"I want you to have this," she had said.

I frowned in response and knelt next to her. "Miley, how can I wear that? You know I don't believe in that stuff."

Rather than agree with me, she used a handkerchief to clean away the dirt and then pressed the thing into my hand. "I understand that, Kayla. It's just, this has been in my family for a few generations. My dad was supposed to give it to Jackson and I already have my mom's cross. Whether you wear it or not, it seems right for you to have it."

Now I rarely take it off. I even think it makes Miley happy when she sees it resting against my chest. Like something of her dad's stays alive with me.

Just as I reach the living room, a knock sounds at the front door. Switching on the light, I go over and open it. There stands Mitchie on the porch, a six-pack of Heineken's held out to me like a sacrificial offering.

"Your breakfast, oh great one," she says and I laugh, pulling out a single beer before standing back to allow her entry.

"They're still cold," I observe.

"Just bought 'em from the refrigerated section. I couldn't come to your house for the first time and bring you warm beer! Come on, Marshall. You know me better than that."

"Hah, yeah. I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you were helping to track and take down the organizations we found connected to Cicero's mob back in New York."

Mitchie puts the six-pack on the coffee table, taking a bottle for herself before she drops down on the couch.

"I was, but it got less…fulfilling. I miss working in the danger zone, anything could happen, you know. I want that again so I'm not gonna stick around to do a job a million other agents or even officers can do."

Understanding where she's coming from, I take the single-seat arm-chair adjacent to her, uncapping my drink and raise the bottle. "Cheers to that then."

She clinks her beer to mine and takes a slow sip while I simply stare ahead. Mitchie's been an on-and-off friend ever since we met back at training. We were boarded in the same barracks and managed an easy relationship. We never talked about personal things, more about how to get through the day and survive boot camp. We could share drinks in absolute silence and know that company was always preferred to solitude.

I used to see a sadness in her, an emptiness she filled with sweat and ammunition. We were partnered for a while and sent out on assignments that we were expected to hardly make it out of alive. She never seemed to mind back then, she even thrived on jumping in front of gunfire and looking a man square in the eye before turning his world dark.

I on the other hand chose a more distanced tactic. I never wanted to watch the life leave anyone. I preferred to never be seen when I had to kill. Rather than instill fear, I would let it be a shock they never saw coming. Over before they knew it.

It's why I appreciate silencers so much. It's why I know exactly what part of the brain to aim for to kill someone immediately.

Maybe that's why Mitchie and I work so well together. While she's itching to be in front of the action, I sneak past it so whoever gets in our way would be finished from the inside and out.

We know each other's methods of operation: how we fight, how we kill, how we react.

I'm detached. Mitchie's direct. It never used to be any other way.

"You'd be an asset to this new team," she says.

I don't have to waste a moment thinking about it before I reply. "I've spent my whole life searching for something better." I look at the ceiling and know Miley is asleep upstairs, waiting for me to get back into bed with her. "I don't need to fill those voids anymore, Mitch."

"Does Miley know?" she asks and now I have to take a long swig of my beer because I don't know how to face this.

"There are things I need to keep to myself."

"Something in you snapped back in New York, Mikayla. I've seen you kill countless times, but never like that."

I squeeze my eyes shut, reliving the day we took down Cicero.

The way I had dived for cover, feeling the bullet pierce me just as I hit the ground. I wanted to get up, but the pain stunned me for a second too long. By the time I managed to turn over, I was seeing Miley's eyes widen as Giovanni charged at her. I tried to yell out, but they were gone before I could.

I staggered to my feet and all but threw myself against the window sill to see Giovanni drag Miley off by her hair. It was the only thing I'd ever witnessed that was worse than any of my past nightmares. I raised my Colt to shoot, but he was too far, too out of range. I turned to go after them but the bullet in my back didn't agree. Instead, I made it about seven feet before falling to one knee, gasping for a breath.

I could feel the blood slithering down my back. The gun fell from my grasp and I struggled to reach into my pocket, finding the hidden headpiece. Minutes ticked by before I could get the device on and working.

"Ryan, come in. I'm down, Ryan –"

"I'm here, we intercepted the target. Stewart blinded and severely injured him. She's unconscious and being checked on by paramedics as we speak and I'm already in the mansion heading towards you."

"No, stay with her," I instructed.

"I'm with the girl, Marshall. No need to worry," Mitchie jumped in and I scowled.

"I told you to look after the other two, her friends! They need protection."

"They're safe, as per your orders. I have the rookie with them on an unmarked chopper until all this blows over. Besides, I was needed here more anyways."

"Shit," Jake had muttered as he entered the room. "Where were you shot?" he asked, already by my side, rolling me over and splitting my shirt open.

"Back," I answered and helping me sit up, he checked the entrance wound before letting out a sigh of relief.

"You're not dyin' today, Marshall," he laughed. "No exit wound and no internal damage from what I can tell. It'll hurt like a bitch, but that's nothing new."

Smiling in return, I gripped his shoulder to steady myself and together we stood. With my arm around his neck, we inched towards the door, but seeing a glimmer of steel on the floor, I paused.

There was Miley's knife with its intimidating blade, bloodied from use.

"Pass me that," I requested and bending, Jake snatched it up and handed it over.

"Gotta get rid of any traces of her, huh?" he said knowingly.

"What makes you think that?"

"Come on, man. We've worked long enough for me to know you never kill with a knife. Too personal and that's not your style." Even Jake Ryan was aware I hated messy weapons of choice and we'd only done a handful of jobs together.

"Torres, you there?" I called as Jake escorted me down the three spiraled flights of stairs. "I need an update on Miley."

"I'm here…the um, the ambulance just arrived." Jake and I shared a look of concern by the way Mitchie stumbled over her words and I stopped walking to concentrate.

"What are you not telling me, Mitch?"

A long pause. "Her lung collapsed…she um, she stopped breathing."

So did I.

* * *

The sound of Mitchie opening a second beer pulls me back from the memory.

"I thought she died, Mitchie." My voice feels heavy and I stand, walking over to the window. Pushing the curtains aside, I stare at the lit up streets and empty road. It's so different out here. The nights are quieter – more chances for overthinking.

"I know you did and I don't blame you. If you ask me, what you did was well overdue."

My head drops, lightly slapping into the window pane.

That day, I was so full of rage. I thought I lost and Gio won. That he accomplished what I swore I wouldn't let him.

"Marshall!" Jake had cried out as I tore myself from his aiding grip and rushed down the remaining steps in spite of the pain I was in. The helicopter was airborne and heading towards us. Everything felt clear to me. No remorse, no regret, no reason left to stop myself.

Miley's hunting knife made me want the blood on my hands.

The copter landed and Mitchie jumped down, sorrow in her entire expression, but I could barely perceive of it.

"Get him out," I ordered. She didn't question me, just turned around and pulled Giovanni from his seat. His hands were cuffed and feet shackled. Mitchie kicked at the back of his leg sharply, making him grunt and fall to his knees.

The entire time I worked for Giovanni, I could never bring myself to touch him unless I had no other choice. There were forced hugs and occasional handshakes, but other than that, I was nauseated by a mere brush of his shoulder against mine.

But that day, I knelt right in front of him and because he couldn't see me with his damaged eyes, I leaned in close, my cheek pressing against his as I whispered: "She's dead."

"It was your own doing, Mikayla. Don't you know better than to love someone? Of course she's dead, she had your affection, she took you from me –"

"I was never yours!" I snarled, feeling him recoil from the closeness of my mouth to his ear. I took one long shuddering breath and leaned into Giovanni, almost embracing him as my fingers slid into his hair, fisting it tightly. "You're a sick man, Gio." I sighed, bringing the knife between us, the blade settling against his throat.

"Don't bother with idle threats, Kayla Anne. You can't kill me now. I'm in police custody."

What I felt for him was much more than anger, it was revulsion and fatigue. I didn't want justice anymore, I just wanted him over with.

"You know, they say your first love is the parent you were attached to and your true love is the person your life means nothing without."

"Kayla," he pled just before the knife sliced into his neck.

"Some men survive having their throats cut open. We're about to find out if you're one of them."

He gasped, unable to form words as I pulled back, watching him flounder for air and tumble backwards, covering his neck with both hands as if trying to keep the blood from gushing out.

I turned and met Mitchie's blank stare. Ryan without a word kept his gaze on the struggling mob boss in pain.

"I need that second ambulance A-SAP," Mitchie called in. "Suspect tried to assault an officer."

* * *

"Marshall!" Mitchie says, snapping me out of my daze.

"Hm?" I answer, turning from the window.

"I called your name over three times, where's your head at?"

I sigh and walk over to the arm-chair, falling back into it. "As right as it felt…I was wrong to take his life. When the paramedics radioed in that they stabilized Miley, my first reaction was to feel alive again, but the second was remorse. I was holding that knife and the blood was so red on my hand, Mitchie. The one way of killing I avoided my whole life, and I succumbed to it in a moment of weakness."

"She'll understand," Mitchie advises, but here's the difficult part.

"I don't know if I want her to understand."

"What do you mean?"

"The way I killed him, that's what Miley wanted most. I'm nothing like her. I can't make sense of it and I fear if I tell her…"

"She'll what, hate you? Come on, Marshall! You can't be that foolish. The girl is lost on you. Like madly in love. Telling her would only put your fears to rest and it would let you stop torturing yourself over killing a man who more than deserved it."

"But I don't deserve Miley's understanding. I have to live with the choice I made, not burden her with them. She's going to think I only killed him because I thought she died."

"Which is exactly what happened."

"It's more than that, it's everything. The things I've seen him do these past years. The monster he is. The mother I lost. For a long time, I just watched him take and take and sabotage lives and I did nothing about it because the mission was to gather information, not save anyone. I didn't even think I had a damn thing left for him to take, so I had nothing to lose but my life which didn't seem like such a bad trade if it meant getting him behind bars. I didn't even realize when it was that Miley crept into my heart. Believing I lost her was the tipping point. I couldn't restrain myself anymore."

Mitchie stands abruptly, walking over to sit at the edge of the coffee table directly in front of me. "It was inevitable, and if you're gonna sit and stew about it, fine. Brood and regret all you want, but remember one thing, Marshall. You killed a man because you thought he took Miley from you. That should tell you enough about how much you love her. You made that choice and you have to live with knowing you took the life of a man who was already facing the penalty. He would have been on trial and served a life sentence or worse, but you killed him. Get it through your head. Now, what would you do if you were the one who drove Miley away? What then? All lies do is create distance and I know you and I haven't shared our life stories with each other, but I've been around you enough to understand that you believe lies can protect you. And maybe that's true, maybe they do, but Miley is the last person who needs to be protected so I don't buy it. In the end, face it, Mikayla Marshall. You love her. So why the hell are you still protecting yourself from her?"

"Because I'm still waiting for the day she wakes up and realizes that I'm just a memory from the worst part of her life!" Covering my face with both my hands, I realize I didn't even know I was protecting myself, or that I was so afraid or losing her. "How can she love me when every time she looks at me, she'll remember him? The man who ruined her life? I can't change that and one day…what if she wants to move on and leave me behind?"

Mitchie forces my hands from my face and takes hold of my left shoulder until I compose myself enough to look at her.

"And what if she fears the same thing?" Mitchie asks which completely riles me.

"What, no. It's different, Mitch."

"No, it's not because all you're doing is guessing. You're not finding out a damn thing and that's fucking stupid, Marshall. Don't waste away on petty thoughts when the girl you love is right upstairs. Hell, before you met her, you would have jumped at the chance to join me on this risky assignment, what's changed?"

I want to say I've changed, but I haven't. "I don't know."

"Your life has changed, Mikayla. For the better. Open your eyes now before you let it slip away."

"I never realized you were such a sage, Mitch."

She chuckles and lets her hands drop. "Only you can make a moron look wise."

My brow raises. "I'd be offended if you didn't just insult yourself in the same sentence."

"Must be a skill," she mutters, looking humored. "But I never came here to feed you advice you don't want. I have a favor to ask."

"What favor?"

"I need something small and discreet that packs a punch."

"You mean, explosives?"

"Mhm and I figure if I wanted something with style, I might as well ask you first."

I can't help the grin that emerges as I stand and nod for Mitchie to follow me. I switch my slippers for a pair of sneakers and walk her around the house and into the garage where a few boxes with things I don't need anymore are stored in. I dig through a few before I find the small yellow envelope and tear it open. Inside is an old gift I never made use of that I hand to Mitchie.

"Cigarettes?" Mitchie questions as she shakes the box.

"Mm, yep. I wouldn't smoke 'em if I were you, considering the chemicals, but you light one and toss it, blows up anything within a thirty foot radius. I don't recommend them for serious destruction, but for a scare factor or distraction, hell yeah."

Opening the box, she selects a single stick and grins at how realistic they appear. "I'm glad I dropped by," she murmurs, pushing it back in and closing the top. Slipping the pack into her jacket pocket, she holds out her hand.

I accept the gesture and give her a quick, sort of awkwardly comfortable hug. "Be safe out there."

"Not in the job description," she retorts, pulling back. "But I'll try. What about you though? What are you gonna do out here since you've become all civilized?"

"I've actually got a position lined up at a nearby testing facility. It's nine to five. I'll be a researcher and mentor on staff and though it's no undercover super sleuth job, I'm actually really excited about getting back into it."

With a sincere smile, she shrugs and shoves both her hands in her pockets. "Good for you, Marshall. You deserve it and who knows? Maybe one day you and I will team up again."

I laugh at the thought of it. "Maybe." But I already know that I'm happy right here.

"I'm gonna go now; gotta grab some snacks for the flight. You know how plane food sucks."

"I do. Have a safe flight, Torres, and take care."

"You too," she says, backing out of the garage, turning to leave.

"And Mitch?" I call, making her pause. "About your advice."

"Yeah?"

"It may not have been not wanted, but it was certainly warranted."

She smiles. "Anything for a soldier."

I shake my head. "A friend."

"That too," she agrees and we both raise our hands in goodbye before she's gone.

* * *

After closing the garage, I make my way back into the house to find it's after five a.m. From pitch black, the sky slowly turns dark blue and the shaded light spills in through the windows. When I get to our room, Miley is already sitting up at the edge of the bed, her back to me.

What's distracting is that she's yet to get dressed and I'm faced with one of the hardest decisions. Get undressed and join her or stayed dressed and let her decide.

Looking over her shoulder, she sees me and smiles. "Come here," she says and in an instant I'm on the bed behind her, enclosing Miley in my arms, making her laugh as I press kisses along her neck.

"You're up early," I mumble.

"And you're in a good mood."

"I'm always in a good mood with you."

She twists into me and her arms circle around my torso while her forehead relaxes on my chest. "If Mitchie needs your help on an assignment or something, I don't expect you to force yourself to stay. You must miss the action."

"I'd miss you more," I whisper. "And the only thing I have ever forced myself to do was live through the constant battle with myself and the world. When I was in the middle of all that action, it wasn't because I liked it, it was because there was nothing better to do. If I stayed idle, I would have lost my mind, Miley. I needed to take chances to prove to myself that there was a reason for me to be alive. I've faced death so many times and I always walk away somehow. I figured there must be something better if I'm not dying and now I know there is. Why would I leave you when you're what I was kept alive for?"

She sighs, pushing me to lie down and as she begins removing my clothes, my mind stays on the one little barrier between us; the lie I mistakenly thought I needed. It takes me a moment to realize that Miley's not doing anything. She's just sitting back on her knees, staring at me in nothing but a pair of skintight briefs.

Leaning up on my elbows, I curiously return the gaze. "What is it?"

"You seem far away."

That's the last thing I want to hear, the last thing I want at all and letting out a low breath, I fall back into the mattress, gripping Miley's thigh.

Her left hand covers mine and she reaches out with the other, placing her fingers to the side of my jaw to make me look at her again. "You don't have to tell me."

How can she say that? She has every right to know, yet if it means not upsetting me, she's willing to let it go.

"I lied to you."

Her blue eyes neither widen nor narrow, no sign of surprise in them. "Kayla, you spent your entire life lying. It's probably a skill you can put on your resume, you're that good at it. I didn't expect that to change and I don't expect you to come clean about everything right off the bat. I can wait for you to trust me."

I search her face for any tells, any signal that she's upset or angry, but all I can see is reassurance and honesty.

"You won't leave me if I tell you?" I ask as though making a bargain with her and she rolls her eyes, shifting to lay on top of me. The weight of her body is comforting and warm and makes me hope to a God I don't believe in that she stays with me forever.

"You can tell me you were born with fish scales or that you're half-demon and I still won't leave you."

"I'm being serious, Miley."

"So am I. Do you want me to guess?"

"No, don't –"

"You were born a boy, but the doctor mistook something else for the umbilical cord and instead of Michael, we now have Mikayla?"

I try not to snort out in laughter at that. "Miley, no."

"You're pregnant, but the kid ain't mine?"

Unable to help myself, I roll us over and let myself get caught up in her silliness. "If I was born Michael, how can I have babies?"

"Ah, I see where you're going with this. You knocked some floozy up! Where is the two-bit whore, huh? I'll smash her face in with a box of condoms!" she threatens, shaking her fist in the air.

Groaning, I kiss Miley hard to stop her, both of us laughing into it, and once we both calm down, I slip my arms underneath her in a permanent hug while my face buries itself between her breasts.

"So which is it," she asks.

Sighing, I don't see the point of keeping it from her. "There was a moment when you stopped breathing in the ambulance."

I feel her eyes on me and the hand in my hair stops moving.

"Giovanni never tried to escape, Miley."

I chance looking up and her eyes are fixed on the ceiling.

"I thought I had lost you...I couldn't bring myself to care anymore and I just –"

"Slit his throat," she finishes and now I'm surprised.

She meets my gaze, reading the astonishment there before she continues. "Lilly was curious about the police report. She said it seemed unlikely that a blind man would try to escape and even manage assaulting an officer. While the reports did agree with what you told me, the autopsy photos didn't lie. Lilly matched the blade model of my hunting knife to the imprint on his neck. You were the only one left in the room with that knife, Mikayla. It didn't take much guesswork for me to put two and two together."

"Why didn't you say something?" I ask, utterly confused and Miley quickly turns us over so she's above me, both of her hands gathering my hair.

"Because I know you. Come on, you always dress professional and you never kill without a suppressor attached to your Colt. It's like a trademark with you, Kayla. When I found out that you killed Cicero the way I imagined I would, I was worried. As happy as doing that would have made me, it's different for you. You don't stand close enough for blood to accidentally spill on your neater than formal clothes. You're unattached to your work. Considering that this was the man you waited nearly two decades to bring down…I wasn't about to start questioning you. Not when I could tell you were still trying to deal with it, and I figured that when you sorted it all out, you'd tell me and if you never did, that was your choice."

Looking off to the side, I try to gather myself. "I can't believe you knew," I mutter, feeling stupid.

"Don't be so surprised. Just look at what brought us together. Is it so far-fetched that I can figure things out just as well as you can cover them up?"

"I was driving myself insane and you knew…" I trail off, unable to not harp on this.

This time, Miley stays silent as I catch up and find myself laughing again because of all the ways my confession could have gone, this makes perfect sense.

"Did I ever tell you what drives me wild about you, Miley?"

She chuckles, remembering the first time I had said that to her when she escaped Giovanni and showed up at my place.

"That I never fail to surprise you," she answers.

"I really should stop underestimating you."

"I just think you're not used to a girl who can keep up with you."

"Oh, you think you can keep up with me now?" I ask, and taking advantage of being under Miley, I grip her waist and help her straddle me just before catching her lips in a playful kiss.

"I don't think, I know," she whispers against my mouth just before I find my hands pinned above my head and all of a sudden, being straddled by Miley doesn't seem to be my doing with the way her hips rock against mine. I can't begin to explain how happy I am that she never got dressed this morning.

"I'm starting to think it's me who can't keep up with you," I murmur.

Pausing, she cradles my face between her hands and smiles. "That doesn't really matter now does it, because I'm not going anywhere."

I think she says this because I've been so afraid of losing her and I don't even realize there are tears slipping down my face until she's kissing them away.

I still think I get too emotional, that I cry too much, but it's kind of okay because for the first time in my life, I have someone who'll wipe away the tears. Someone who'll be here after the nightmares to say it's all okay. Someone who doesn't mind loving the broken side of me as much as the living one.

If you were to ask what attracted me most to Miley, the answer might be myself – that I don't have to lie or pretend, because when you grow up an abandoned, lonely, and angry child, you learn to smile well enough for people to buy it. You learn how to function to appear normal. You even figure out the words people need to hear so they don't have to deal with the fact that you're a moment away from cracking.

Miley is fearless though. In my eyes, she can accomplish anything and I say that because she makes me want better for myself. She's spent nights in my arms where I feel her grief because she lets me. She trusts me and it lets me trust myself. She's become the part of me that's willing to move forward rather than look back. Yet, when I do look back, she's willing to look with me.

I think that's something more than love, something more like shelter and for a girl who's once lived on the streets, it's a pretty wonderful surprise.

The End

* * *

**A/N**: _My God. This was a lot more intense to write than I thought it would be. A thank you to everyone who continued to read this story in spite of how long it took to be completed._

_Love. Love. Love you all._


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